


Little Wing

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [4]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Developing Friendships, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Heroin, Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: Ross and Demelza are an unlikely pair.





	1. Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

**Author's Note:**

> Heroin addiction, drug use, attempted solicitation of a minor, crawlers, Ready Steady Go! and Verity.  
Poldark at 33 and a third rpm

11 p.m. May 21, 1964

In 1964, the dividing line between social health as a priority and increasing criminalization of drug use in England, there were two classes of addict declared suitable for indefinitely prolonged administration of heroin or morphine:

a) Those in whom a complete withdrawal of morphine or heroin produces serious symptoms which cannot be treated under ordinary conditions of private practice and

b) Those who are capable of leading a fairly normal and useful life so long as they take a certain quantity, usually small, of their drug of addiction, but not otherwise.

Ross Poldark was the latter. Having stayed behind in New York City in late 1963, after the rest of his band, Resurgam, had returned to England, depressed, in part, by the death of his father and the marriage of his former girlfriend to his cousin, Francis, Ross cast around for a quantum of solace and wound up with a heroin habit.  
Like many who shrug off the idea that addiction would follow, Ross, seeking to dull the pain of being alone - his father, mother and younger brother all passed on and his dream of starting his own family with his sweetheart dashed - welcomed the assistance the drug provided.  
It was a fatal embrace. He could not quit it. Back in England the guitarist became a registered addict. He was entitled to a prescription that kept him from becoming ill but left him unable to stop using. Killed by Her Majesty's kindness, so to speak. It became a constant in his life. He ate, he worked with his band, he slept, he breathed, he used drugs. It was what it was.  
This night, like many others, he walked the night streets of London. It was his base of operation while he worked on an album for EMI and fortunate to some degree. It was easier to manage here than his family home in Cornwall. He was not proud of the turn his life had taken and he did not want all the gossip that managing his addiction in Truro would bring. Here in the capital, he could go about his business with no prying eyes to judge him.  
He strode through the streets to reach the late night chemists and get what he needed. He wore a long, beaten up army coat from the States and his dark hair had grown long enough to pull it back with an elastic. He looked a far cry from the clean cut, upper class boy he was meant to be. In truth, it wasn't a surprise as he had little guidance growing up. His late father left him to fend for himself as he mourned Ross' mother by womanizing and running wild.  
While his father did as he pleased, Ross indulged in the Modernist scene. He became a Mod, frequenting the basement jazz and blues clubs that were starting to multiply like mushrooms. He made the scene with a local girl on his arm - a beauty from a Cornish family as old as his own, Elizabeth. They were a golden couple. When they danced or simply went around together people took notice. They became part of the London demi monde until things started to go wrong. Elizabeth and Ross, like many others in the mod subculture took 'leapers', uppers or speed, to keep the frenetic pace of dancing all night in the clubs. Elizabeth became addicted to Drinamyl, the triangle shaped pills know on the scene as 'purple hearts'. Ross was deeply in love with Elizabeth and wanted to marry her. After her mother found out the extent of Elizabeth's problems she blamed Ross and became bitterly against Ross having anything to do with her daughter. Elizabeth was whisked back to Cornwall to be cleaned up by her family physician. For her mother, part of her rehabilitation was to get her married. Get her away from the nightclubs and parties. Secure her an advantageous match. Elizabeth was a ticket to the Chynoweths retaining their status by aligning with a family with money and social position. Elizabeth was practically born and reared for this purpose and Mrs. Chynoweth was not going to let Ross spoil her daughter's potential. Ross along with his father had a poor reputation and little to recommend in the way of wealth. Joshua Poldark was the second son in the Poldark family. They had the status of gentry, of a country squire, without the inheritance and connections of Ross' uncle, Charles, the first born heir. Charles' son Francis was clean cut, dependable and had the extra added nicety of being heir to the Poldark estate, Trenwith, and the wealth that comes from being long established Cornish landowners and mine owners. By marrying Francis, Elizabeth became a Poldark without the trouble of Ross' lifestyle.  
Ross took it all badly. Thrown over for his cousin, with whom, along with his sister, Verity, Ross had a close relationship growing up. Ross felt betrayed by both sides of the couple.  
To salve his disappointment, he began to play in the blues music clubs rather than make the scene dancing. He played guitar in various bands and gained a following in the insular world of rhythm and blue enthusiasts. The mod scene was changing and Ross changed along with it. He was a talented player but he was constantly being difficult, constantly being ill tempered. Arrogant. He was too self assured of his own talent and rubbed people the wrong way. He never stayed in any one band long enough to get anywhere. People could see Ross was talented but he was just too much hard work to get along with. Ross started to realize he had to form his own band if he was going to move forward. By 1962 he'd befriended a bass player named Dwight Enys and after casting around for a drummer started his own band, Resurgam, with Dwight and a drummer named Ned Despard. They had a residency at one of the R&B clubs in London and started getting interest for record labels. they signed with EMI. Things were looking up. They went to New York and started recording tracks for an album.  
Now his salve for his hurting heart was hard work - continuing to work on the record and the respite drugs provided him. Ross didn't like to think about much of anything and heroin assisted him in that aim. The only bright spot in his life was music.

A dog was barking somewhere... Ross walked along without considering where it might be, As he passed as alley, though, he saw the source. There was a man at the mouth of the alley walking towards the back of it amidst a jumble of rubbish bins. A small dog was barking. Ross walked on, paying no mind until he heard a child's voice yell "Stay away!" A kid? Ross doubled back and let his eye adjust to the light.  
"My dog'll bite you! You stay away!"  
"That dog won't do shite!" the man kept walking toward the voice. "Do you need a quid, lad? You can earn a quid if you help me out..."  
Ross knew full well what that meant. he rolled his eyes, 'fucking perv...' He called out,  
"You there! Leave that boy alone! Go on, get out of here!"  
"Shut up!" said the man "This is between me an' 'im!" Ross advanced upon him.  
"Get away from that kid and fuck off!" Ross grabbed him by his coat. "You'd better run..." he snarled at him.  
"Or what?!" the man smelled of cheap aftershave and rum. He shoved Ross with more force than Ross thought him capable of. Ross punched him in the stomach and shoved him against the wall.  
"You can fuck off, go on! Get out of here!"  
The man stumbled forward and bent double to vomit. Ross scowled as he stepped back to stay clear of it. The man walked away, out of the alley and into the street. Ross watched him go by walking to the mouth of the alley. He turned and spoke into the dark.  
"He's gone." There was no answer. He walked toward the boy. The dog started barking again. It was quite dark but Ross could tell it was just a puppy. That the kid thought his dog was any sort of protection was sweet and a little sad as well. They were as much easy prey as each other.  
"Are you sleeping rough?" asked Ross "Where do you live?'  
"Illugan."  
Ross was dumbfounded. Illugan was near his neck of the woods in Cornwall.  
"Illugan?" How the hell did a little kid from Cornwall wind up here?  
"How did you get here?"  
"Me 'n Garrick hid in a lorry."  
Ross was starting to sweat. He needed to get to the chemists.  
"Why did you leave home? Don't you have parents?"  
"Mum's dead. Pa don't want me."  
'He don't," Ross corrected himself, "He doesn't want you?" He peered into the dark corner. The child looked frail and far too young to be on the street.  
"How old are you?"  
"Twelve." Ross harumphed. "Don't tell lies. How old are you really?"  
"I AM twelve!" protested the boy.  
"Come out of this alley, come on."  
They walked the pavement without speaking for a while. The kid looked far too young in his features but he had the height - stood taller than Ross had expected when he was crouched down in the alley. He certainly looked underfed. He held his dog in his bony arms and hopped along with the gait of a child who hadn't gotten used to his legs. He was all arms and legs. Without much thought about it, they walked toward the line of addicts waiting with their scripts. Ross looked at the boy in the better light of the shop. A red haired kid with an anorak too big for him and the puppy a scraggly mutt. His hair was overlong and unkempt. He just didn't look like he could be twelve, but for the height. His eyes were still babyish, too big for his head.He had on grubby trainers and dungarees, filthy from the alley or the truck or both. Ross looked more closely and recoiled. The child was lousy.  
"Do you have family here?"  
"No."  
"Where will you sleep?"  
"I'll find a different alley..." 'Well that won't do...' thought Ross.  
"I have to pick up a prescription here. You should come home with me." The boy scowled.  
"No, not like that! No one will hurt you. But you can't stay on the street and no hostel will take your dog."  
The boy clutched his dog tighter. "Me 'n Garrick is friends!"  
"Well that's all the more reason to come home with me. You can get a bath for a start." The line of addicts filed in. Ross turned to the boy and said,  
"Wait for me by the door. Don't leave. Do you understand?" The boy nodded. Ross received his drugs and went into the aisles of the shop. He came to the counter with a bottle of shampoo and a fine toothed plastic comb. At the last minute he added a packet of chocolate buttons. The boy looked like he could do with a treat.  
The boy had stayed put. Ross wondered if it was worth using the human shampoo on the dog. They were both as dirty as the other.  
"Come on..."  
They made a strange trio. The boy, the dog and the man in the long army coat. Ross was trying to think what to do about it all. Clearly the boy had to go into care, but not in London... Ross sighed. He wasn't planning on going back to Cornwall but if the boy really was from Illugan it made sense to take him back. They walked past the chip shop, closed for the night. They walked along the stretch of houses with their basement flats, all dark. Walking homeward in the sleeping streets of the night.  
"First things first..." Thought Ross. He unlocked the door and bid the child to enter.  
"Go up to the third landing. Go on. I'll be up there in a moment."  
Ross went to his room on the second floor and sat at his desk with his kit. 'Enough to take the edge off...'  
The child looked round the place. Downstairs looked like a proper house but up here didn't look lived in. Clutching the dog tighter as footsteps were heard on the stairs. The man had come back.  
"O.K. I'll find you something to change into and we have to wash your dog too." The child nodded. The scrappy little thing was washed in a basin in the bathtub. The water went black. Ross tipped it out and started over. He was chagrined that he would have to use one of his towels for the animal, but that couldn't be helped. Ross tried to stay clear of the boy's head. He wondered if it was worth shaving the boy's head. Combing his lice ridden hair looked like it would be a nightmare of a job.  
Once Garrick was clean, he shook water everywhere and the boy laughed as he was sprinkled with it. It was a cheerful, innocent sound and Ross smiled. Yes, take this kid back to Cornwall. London would eat this child alive...  
Ross found a shirt and some boxer shorts with a drawstring. Garrick lay on the towel in the hall and curled up to sleep. Ross was squeamish but it had to be done.  
"Come here." The boy entered the bathroom. Ross had cleaned out the tub and ran a bath.  
"I'm not a perv, but I have to help you to get clean. You're too grubby to manage on your own and we have to get that lice off you. The boy nodded, turned to face the tub and, gingerly, pulled off his clothes. Ross gasped. The child's back was a confusion of scars, welts and bruises, some barely healed. He looked like he was beaten daily with a switch.  
"Who did that to your back?!" "Pa." Ross was horrified, not in the least because the kid sounded resigned to the truth of the matter. As he stepped into the tub and turned to sit down Ross' eyes widened from a second shock.

He was a girl.

Ross cleared his throat. "Start washing up. We'll drain the tub and you can do it again. Then we'll clean your hair." She nodded. Ross supposed that shaving her head was out of the question now... It occurred to Ross that he never asked the child's name, which might have given him an earlier clue to her gender.  
The water, scummed and grey was drained. The tub filled again and she washed herself clean, leaving the water discolored from soap rather than dirt. He left the room as she dried herself and dressed in the shorts and one of his undershirts. Leaning her head over the tub, Ross scrubbed her hair with the shampoo and rinsed out the suds, looking at the insects speckling the water going down the drain in distaste. He rinsed her scalp with vodka, the only halfway astringent thing he had in the house and scrubbed the shampoo in again. He rinsed her hair, gave her a towel and had her sit on the floor while he sat on the edge of the bathtub and started combing the nits out of her hair. The knowledge that she was a girl and so willfully misused made Ross more sympathetic about the arduous task of getting her hair clean. He methodically went from one side of her head to the other and tried not to tug too hard.  
Demelza, for that was the child's name, started to feel sleepy. She had a vague remembrance of her mother combing her hair and the man was as gentle at the task, the way her mum had been. She lay her cheek on her knee and dozed. Ross leaned forward to look at her. She was asleep like a bird enfolded in its own wings. He smiled. 'What have I gotten myself into...?' he thought. He persevered with his chore.

Ross went out in the early morning with all the towels they had used, the anorak and the rest of the kid's clothes in a bin bag and washed them in the launderette. After a scolding from the attendant who told Ross he was not allowed to put trainers in the washing machines, the lady made it clear she disapproved of him being there at all. Ross bore it with good grace. He knew, in his battered coat and over long hair, he looked a bit of a tramp himself and didn't take offense. Once everything was clean and dry, Ross realized he should not put the clean things back in the bin bag. He wrapped everything up in the anorak and carried it home like a parcel. He put the trainers in a plastic carrier bag the launderette attendant let him have, still miffed over his visit but willing to be of service.  
Home was a three flat house that had belonged to Ross' maternal side, the Vennors. It had been grand once but now joined the rest of the down at heel, paint peeling housing stock. The neighborhood had seen better days but Ross was grateful it remained in the family to claim. He'd never be able to afford a house in London otherwise. He stayed there when he was not at Nampara, his father's house in Cornwall, now his after his father's death.  
As he entered the house he could hear the dog whimpering. Ross went down into the kitchen and let him out into the back garden. All the more reason to take her back to Cornwall. He didn't want the dog pissing all over everything here...  
He left her clothes, boy's clothes, on a chair in the room she slept in upstairs and cursed his inability to think three steps ahead. Ross realized she only had the clothes on her back and whatever ill fitting things of his he could scrounge up. It was early, but he knew one person that could help him. He went downstairs and dialed the phone in the kitchen.  
"Verity, good morning! Are you busy tomorrow? I need to ask a favor..."

Demelza woke in a strange bed with the room already light. Her brother's clothes were clean and sitting on a chair by the door. She got dressed and went looking for Garrick. Ross was sitting at the kitchen table when she saw Garrick chasing his own tail, beyond a glass door at the end of the room.  
"Good Morning." said Ross "My name is Ross Poldark. I didn't ask you your name last night..."  
"Demelza." Ross smiled, warmly and she smiled back, set at ease by him. 'As old fashioned a name as you could want, a real West Country girl...' thought Ross.  
"I thought we could go to the cafe and get some breakfast. Does Garrick have a lead?' She shook her head 'no'. After some rummaging around, Ross produced a length of rope that would have to do.  
As Demelza wolfed down a full English breakfast with Ross' tomato and an extra sausage besides, Ross explained his intention to take her back to Cornwall but avoid her sadistic father. She couldn't see how avoiding Pa was possible but she did not argue. He also mentioned that tomorrow, Saturday, his cousin would come by to help buy her something else to wear. Demelza felt as if she had woken up in a fairy story. After being so afraid and running away she was now in a grand house with a kind benefactor.

'The weekend starts here!'  
Ross, Demelza and Garrick were settled in the lounge watching Ready Steady Go!. They had walked Garrick all about today. Ross minded the dog as Demleza played on the swings and the climbing frame in the playground near by. In daylight, Ross was amused to think she had been a boy too young rather than the girl she was. Her play had put color in her cheeks and her hair, now clean and louse free gave no doubt as to her gender. They had their supper from the chip shop. Pleasantly full for the second time today, Demelza sat with Garrick on the floor and watched a real banger of a RSG! - Francoise Hardy*, Little Richard, Dionne Warwick and The Yardbirds. She looked up at Ross sitting near her on the sofa to exclaim how exciting Little Richard was but Ross was dozing. She thought. Demelza was not in a position to recognize he was on the nod.  
The next day the bell rang and Ross introduced Demelza to his cousin, Verity. They looked enough alike that Demelza would have believed they were siblings.  
"Hello, my dear, " said Verity, "I hear you are in need of a wardrobe..."  
They wandered through Marks and Spencer. Verity had the matter well in hand, as Ross had hoped. He felt picking out girl's clothes and undergarments was beyond his capabilities. Verity was charmed by Demelza who was excitable and sweet as she enjoyed what seemed to be the first shopping trip she ever had. They came away with a packet of five pastel sets of underclothes with a little ribbon bow sewn on each vest in a matching, darker color, two skirts, a pinafore, a light blue turtleneck shirt, a set of three tee shirts in light yellow, blue and green and two jersey shift dresses - one plain dark blue and one dark green floral print. Ross' choice to have Verity help them was a godsend in the shoe store. The shopkeeper looked at Ross and Demelza as if they were vagrants but remained civil and polite as Verity cheerfully asserted her well bred privilege on their behalf. Ross had forfeited his gentry credibility through his demeanor. Verity was worried for him. He didn't seem to see his own decline. She was going to have to give him a talking to...  
Demelza wore her new, brown, Mary Jane shoes out of the store and had a pair of black t straps besides. And tights! And chocolate! Demelza was practically dancing next to Verity as she loped up the pavement in her little bird hop of a walk. Verity and Demelza chatted about this and that as Demelza shared her chocolate buttons with her. Having grown up with brothers, Demelza hadn't really interacted with someone like Verity. At 23, she was old enough to be grown up but also so young and so relatable. Ross brought up the rear. Amused.  
To thank Verity, they had a meal in a restaurant. Demelza had not experienced a cloth table restaurant before and was nervous.  
"You have nothing to fear, my dear. Just enjoy your food." said Verity.  
"I just worry they'll see I don't belong and put me out!" Demelza was only half joking. Ross and Verity laughed in a good-natured way.  
"You should not worry," said Ross, "Whether you know it or not, you are a lady."

"Thank you, Verity!" Demelza sank into Verity's affectionate hug as they said goodbye.  
"You're welcome!" They exchanged one more hug. Verity glowered over Demelza's head. She looked into Ross' eyes and mouthed "Call me tonight!" Ross nodded.  
"Thank you, Verity. We'll talk soon."

"Ross! What DO you think you're doing!" Verity's anger just about crackled through the receiver.  
"I know it looks bad..." Ross whispered.  
"Ross! You are a registered drug addict with an underage, runaway girl in your house!"  
"I know Ver, I do! but she had nowhere to go and a dog and her father's a proper monster!"  
Verity sighed. "I know you want to help, Ross. But people will talk! And if the world at large don't know about your bad habits they soon will do! You look dreadful!"  
Verity was the only person Ross confided in when he came back from New York with a heroin habit. True to her nature, she listened and pledged her support of him. But even Verity had her limits.  
"It ends now! Do you hear me?! If you want to look out for that girl properly you have to get off of that fucking poison!" Ross covered his eyes with his free hand. He had made Verity swear. This was serious.  
"This isn't a game, Ross! If her father is as bad as you say he is, they will put that poor girl into care!" Ross blinked in incomprehension.  
"They should do! If you saw the state of her back!"  
"Ross!" Verity was exasperated. "Even in Cornwall going into care isn't a happy solution! She'll need someone like you to be her friend, her mentor. She'll have it hard, Ross! You can't be that mentor if you're up your own arse on drugs!"  
Ross raked his hand through his hair and sighed.  
"Yes, Verity."  
"For your own sake, Ross..." He could hear her voice crack. Verity was crying. "You must put a stop to this!"  
Ross sighed. It seemed too hard.  
"Verity, it's not..."  
"Promise me you'll stop!"  
Ross was pinned to the spot. Trapped. If he promised Verity anything he had to make good on it. She was the closest thing to a sibling he ever had and her regard meant a great deal to him.  
"Ross!"  
"Yes, Verity. I promise."

* In a different area of London, a nineteen year old Hugh Armitage also watches Francoise Hardy on Ready Steady Go! and after dithering over the idea for a couple of months, decides to try his luck working in France.


	2. Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross and Demelza have come home

"That type get up to all sorts..."  
"No..."  
"If he's anything like his father..."  
"Not that young, surely...?"  
"Hmmmm..."

The Vennor house in London was where Ross laid his hat. Useful. Nampara, in Cornwall, was home. It always smelled the same as it did when he was small. Old wood and stone walls. It had not changed overmuch. Some of the wooden furniture dated to the 18th century. The light slanted through the windows the same way year after year. The grasses of the Long Field grew tall and then fell to the common fate of mowing as the seasons went through their inexorable changes. Ross felt the comfort of being at home in Nampara but being from a family so old and established in the district as the Poldarks and having a father of ill repute besides, did bring some antagonisms.  
It was remarked upon in the community that Demelza's presence was an interesting development. Perhaps a friend's child, perhaps a relation, perhaps... Ross had little patience for gossip and ignored it. He had other, more pressing concerns. Ross had to either register himself as an addict in Truro or kick. Ross knew he really only had one option. He had to kick. Ross had promised his cousin Verity he would quit using heroin and now he had a kid in the house. He could admit he was a junkie but he did feel he had his own standards of behavior, his own sense of morals. If he kept using, he'd be no better than Demelza's father. It would be inevitable that she would see things she shouldn't. Normalizing smack in front of a child was not something Ross wanted to be responsible for. It was a matter of honor even as the task filled him with dread. He had tried and failed to quit more than once.  
Ross considered this and the young girl in his care as he sat playing his acoustic, Gibson guitar in the parlor. Many households had the television in pride of place but not Ross. The television was off in a corner with a comfortable sofa facing it if one chose to use it. The focus of the room was his stereo system and his collection of records. On either side of the fireplace were sturdy, built in shelves that held his records next to large speakers flanking the hearth. The turntable, reel to reel tape player and a Grundig radio were displayed over the records and evenings were spent listening to music or playing music.  
Extremely old, beautifully carved hardback settees that had sat on either side of the fire, original to the house, were now along the far wall beneath the windows. They were still used but not as often as the two sturdy church pew benches that took their place, salvaged from Sawle church's renovation in the 1950s. They faced each other with booklets of sheet music in the slots that previously held hymnals and a modern sofa faced the fireplace, making a u shaped, cozy area to talk or play or listen to music.  
Ross sat on the sofa practicing in his usual manner. He made a point of playing without looking at his hands, training himself to play without needing to look at his fingering. It was better to be able to interact with other musicians, or look around the room - scanning to see how people were reacting, or staring down the prettiest girls in the crowd until they blushed. He played, staring into the hearth and considering the events of the day. The gossip traveled so far and so fast when Ross arrived with Demelza in tow that he did not have to search for Tom Carne, her father.  
Demelza was playing with Garrick in the Long Field, as free and happy as any child could be and then stood frozen to her spot. Ross turned to see what she saw and watched a beaten up car was coming towards the house. Demelza ran into the house like a scared rabbit. She was still hiding even though her father was packed off hours ago.  
The man was clearly an alcoholic and just the sort of bully that would pick on a defenseless kid. Ross was grateful he hadn't fixed up yet for the argument they had would have been impossible for Ross to manage if Carne had shown up later in the day. All the more reason to kick, he thought. It was time to be more responsible. Stop wallowing in self pity and get on with things. Look outward, focus on something other than his grievances with the world.

The smell of wood was sharp, not musty or mild. A thin line of light shone between the cabinet doors. If she inched forward Demelza could probably see them in the room beyond but she did not dare move. She was crouched down with her right foot falling asleep but she was too frightened that shifting even a little bit would make too much noise and Pa would snatch her away. Her cheek was pressed against the unfinished wood of the cupboard. When she last assumed this position, she lay with her cheek on the grubby linoleum of the kitchen floor. She had gotten to the point where she could not even shriek anymore. She simply lay flinching with her cheek stuck down, wet with tears as she stared with dull fascination at the specks of her blood hitting the patterned floor. It had become harder to stay out of Pa's way. It had become harder to bear. Pa's chastisement of her had gone beyond a cooting. It had taken a sinister turn. He was rarely content to whip her once or twice. When he last took a wire coat hanger to her, he seemed unwilling to stop. She fainted. She woke in pain and could not sit up. She was off school for weeks. When she was able to move freely once more, she dressed in her brother's clothes, gathered her dog, Garrick, in her arms and crawled into a truck that was open for loading cargo. She had no plan, no idea where she would end up. Fate smiled upon her. She was found by a kind man who took her in. He washed her and Garrick, fed them, bought her new clothes and introduced her to his cousin who looked after her like an older sister would.  
He was mysterious. Ross. He didn't mind her calling him Ross as if she were grown up too. Though his house was quite grand, it had similarities to her father's house. There was not much food in the house, it was unkempt - the floors not swept, the beds not made, dishes lay forgotten in the sink. Ross ate in cafes and restaurants so not having much in was not as burdensome as in her father's home. He didn't seem sick but he didn't seem well either. Ross was often sleepy.  
Verity and Demelza spent an enjoyable afternoon tidying Ross' house before he and she left for Cornwall. The radio in the kitchen played all the hits of the day ( Verity was mad for The Beatles ). They swept up, washed up and brought all the sheets and stray clothes to the launderette. Verity read Alice Through The Looking Glass aloud while they waited for their wash to be finished. She kept the book on her lap so Demelza could see the pictures. The attendant was charmed by them and gave Demelza a humbug from her secreted jar of sweets in the back of the launderette.  
When they returned to the flat,Verity went upstairs to tell Ross she was leaving. When she came back down she left the book with Demelza and told her Ross was sleeping. Demelza read aloud to Garrick while she waited for Ross to wake up.  
She thought of that day as she hid in the cabinet. Ross was mysterious but he was also a good friend. Now he was arguing that she be allowed to stay with him and not giving an inch to Pa, fighting for her. She continued to cower, stock still as they argued.  
"Where's my daughter? Where is she?" Pa growled. Ross spoke calmly.  
"What difference is it to you? You want to take her back so you can beat her again?"  
"I can do what I want with my own..."  
"The state of her back is appalling!" hissed Ross.  
"What right have you to be seein' her back?! I'll have the law on you!"  
"Do it!" laughed Ross but he soon lost his humor and continued, "And don't be surprised when I fucking shop you!" Ross was indignant, "If the police were here now and saw the state of her back, which one of us would go to jail?!"

It went quiet

Ross spoke again. "When was she last in school?" Demelza had been with Ross for a week and a half. Surely she must be truant.  
"I withdrew her..."  
"What?!"  
"I says she was with an aunt..."  
"An aunt?' Ross was incredulous, " So you took her out of school and then what? You sat biding your time until you could kill her"  
"Eh?!"  
"Do you think you can beat a child like that and get away with it?! It's a miracle she's not dead!"  
Demelza held her breath. She did not know Pa had taken her out of school.  
"She's my daughter!" It went quiet again.  
"she stays with me."  
"You what?!"  
"You heard." Ross was angry. " You go back to Illugan and let everyone know she's with her 'aunt". I'll be damned if I hand a kid back over to someone who mistreated her to this degree. And you stay away! If you make any trouble it will be you going to prison, not me!"  
"You think you can get away with this?" She could hear in his voice Pa was losing.  
"Do you want to go to jail?" asked Ross again.  
She heard them leave the room still murmuring. Was she really free? Would she really not have to go back with Pa?

Ross was still playing his guitar. Thinking. When he last saw Verity in London, he was on a nod and she was livid.  
"You have that young girl to look after now! You cannot carry on like this!"  
He could not carry on like this. Stop hiding, stop feeling sorry for himself. He had the same inability to manage his feelings and emotions as many others of his class and time. Closed up, stiff upper lip or willful rebellion. Those were the only two choices modeled for him. His mother was loving but she died in misery and pain from cancer. Even then, she resolved to be stoic about it. His father acted out after she died. He was also not the sort to be physically affectionate - a pat on the shoulder, a nod of approval- that's all Ross could expect in terms of his father's regard.  
Ross had little guidance to find healthier ways to manage. He did not want to manage. Heroin was so obliging. He could escape. At first. Now the lash of the drug's whip had bitten him. That relief was short lived before he started feeling ill. He was needing the drugs to fend of the horrors of withdrawal. It would be hard but he had reason to fight. He had a young friend who needed a better life. He needed to be responsible. Perhaps he would grow up along side her. He would be a better man... Ross heard a door creak. She must feel safe enough to come out now.

It was dark. She had fallen asleep in the cabinet. She carefully opened the doors and crawled out. Garrick was asleep nearby. He must have smelled her. This house was different to the one in London. It was old fashioned, a country house. She could see light coming from a different room in the hall. Ross was playing guitar. Pa must be gone. She walked towards the light and peeked around the door. Ross sat facing the fireplace, with no fire lit and stared at it while he played. He could play gorgeous without looking at his hands! It seemed like a magic trick! She walked towards him, fascinated. She thought 'I wish I could play like that!...' Ross turned his head and smiled at her. He strummed one last chord and turned in his seat to face her.  
"We searched high and low! Where were you?!"  
"I hid in the cabinet." She gave a timid smile that Ross found very sweet.  
"I spoke to your father and he has agreed to you staying here at Nampara."  
Demelza took a step closer. "Really?"  
"Really." Ross looked at her. His ward. Not legally, but for all intents...  
"You and Garrick will live here and you'll get your schooling here. When I'm away, you will be looked after by Jud and Prudie. She had met Ross' housekeepers when they first arrived.  
"Away?' Demelza was puzzled.  
"Yes. I work with a band and there will be times when I will be called away to work. But you will stay here, at this house and be safe, even if I'm not here. Your father will not hurt you anymore."  
Demelza felt lightheaded suddenly and shook her head briefly to clear it. The relief of hearing Ross say, simply, 'He will not hurt you anymore...' made her burst into tears. She managed to say " Thank you, Ross!" in her torrent of crying. Ross set his guitar on its stand and came to stand by her. Unused to dealing with kids, not having grown up himself knowing the ease of giving and receiving hugs and aware that he should be circumspect - he was, after all, a twenty-two year old man and she a twelve year old girl - he made a point of not crowding her or seem untoward while she stayed with him in London, he hesitated. He did not want to suggest the gossips were correct. But her tears of relief and gratitude could only be meet with an embrace. Demelza was an abused little girl and it was not, he felt, inappropriate to give her the comfort a hug would bring. Moreover, he wanted to, for his own sake, feel that connection. He was loathe to admit that her hug would be as necessary to him as to her. He gently put his arms around her and she sank forward, leaning into him with her arms around his waist. They stood like that for some time. She had a good cry and Ross stroked her hair, slowly as if taming a startled fawn. He had a strange and happy sensation of friendship he had not experienced before. A purpose in it, for both of them. Each of them helping the other move forward. They would move forward. Together.

"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fathur tored 'em last night when he give me a cooting" is the line in the original text of Ross Poldark. The current American version of Ross Poldark seems to have been edited to change "cooting", meaning beating, to "thrashing". Thrashing was used in other parts of the old book too but the new version ( which also removed nice phrases like "This to tease" and cleaned up Demelza's grammar at earlier points than Winston Graham intended) is some bullshit, but what can you expect in this godless world... Drake also uses the word cooting in a later book when he mentions being punished for drawing on walls as a child, but I don't know if they changed that out too. I stick with my old versions...
> 
> Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood, The Animals 1965


	3. Tales Of Brave Ulysses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enchantment, the fount of knowledge and the beginnings of a love affair.

"T'ain't right!"  
"Hush your clack!"  
Jud and Prudie were an older, married pair that looked after Nampara. They were hired by Ross' father when they were younger than they are now. Their care for the house and grounds was adequate. The need to have 'white glove' levels of cleanliness was never a priority - father or son- and they kept the place better than Ross kept the London house that lay idle when he wasn't there and unkempt when he was. There was no one looking after the London house when Ross wasn't there.  
Demelza was inside today. The rain made the lamp light seem golden and friendly. Spending time with the wonderful records Ross owned was a lovely way to pass the morning. Garrick was happier here too. He chased rabbits and loved to explore all around outside. He had plenty of play and exercise with Demelza and by himself. Today, indoors, he was taking relish in chewing an old knotted rope and swinging it around in his mouth in the hall as Demelza explored the records that Ross gave her permission to play. She spent a wondrous morning not just playing but studying Ross' records. Unbeknownst to her, Ross had been a 'face' on the Mod scene in London- a person of style and taste in that scene and as such collected these incredible records. Etta James, Bo Diddly, Howlin' Wolf, Chuck Berry, John Lee Hooker, loads and loads - and not just English, Pye label releases- Ross had lots of proper American ones - Chess, Tamla, Motown. Little Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, The Miracles, The Marvelettes, masses of fantastic records! The sort of music you could see on Ready Steady Go! but instead of having to wait impatiently all week she could play them as much as she liked and listen to every little bit of the songs. Even the fade out as the needle left the song and finished was captivating to her. Staring at the little pictures and logos and tiny words on the labels never staled. It was the beginning of Demelza receiving the same deep and sophisticated education in authentic rhythm and blues music as an aficionado Ross' age, ten years younger, in a remote farmhouse in Cornwall.  
Prudie came in to the parlor at noon to ask Demelza to come to the kitchen for lunch. She followed Prudie into the kitchen where Jud was already drinking down his soup as if the bowl was a cup. "Why do you snort it all down like a mad dog?" Prudie rolled her eyes. ":I eats how I like!" said Jud. They were the sort of couple that groused at each other, but the well worn habit showed their affection for each other too, even as they grumbled. Jud and Prudie were a throwback to an older time. They often spoke in the old Cornish way one would have heard in the 1940s or even the '30s. Cornish to the bone.  
Demelza sat at the wooden table, smoothed by decade upon decade of people having used it. Prudie set a bowl of hot tomato soup and a little plate of crackers in front of her. There was butter and cheese spread should she want that on the crackers. The knife and spoon were proper silverware. Prudie returned to leave a glass of orange squash by the bowl. For Demelza, who rarely had lunch at home, it seemed quite elegant. And bountiful. There was no skimping at Nampara. The novelty of having seconds was disorientating to her. She could have as many crackers as she liked and spread them until they risked breaking under as much butter and cheese as she cared to eat.  
"Alright?" Jud's customary greeting to her.  
"Ais." Demelza had broad, Illugan speech even as Ross tried to pry it off her. "Yes" he would say. His correction of her was never judgmental and always accompanied by a bemused smile. Ross was away in London for a week. He told Demelza he would bring Verity back with him which made her clap her hands with glee. Verity was that nice! They had become friends at once when Ross brought them all shopping together.  
"You been lucky, girl. T'ain't no school for you 'til Septemby..." Demelza smiled. Ross didn't see the point in enrolling her for what little school was left - it was already June. In truth, though Demelza, Jud and Prudie did not know it, Ross was also hesitating over which school to choose. Hempel was best but the village school had kids who were more like Demelza, working class. At Hempel, Demelza would get better schooling but be thrown into a nest of 'little horrors', as Ross called them. The upper class little brats he'd come to know as he grew up alongside those families himself. Ross dithered as the choice that had to be made loomed. Demelza enjoyed her lunch with a happy sigh. She even looked forward to school. Everything was so wonderful at Nampara, surely everything in the area was just as nice...  
After lunch, with Garrick still delighted with his rope, Demelza explored the library. Here the room was filled with the accumulated oddities of both Poldarks, father and son and maybe even grandfather - some of the things were very old. The desk was large enough to mount a military campaign and covered in papers and odds and ends. Glass paperweights that one could stare into like a magical crystal balls, an old, gilt clock with a stand that held an old fashioned inkwell and two pens so choked with dried ink they could not be used. A rabbit skull, ghostly ivory and glowing with age sat among a tobacco tin filled with foreign coins, guitar picks and a small pair of pliers buried under a tangled mass of guitar strings. A forgotten packet of Jelly Babies. Demelza did not hesitate, she plucked out a green one and ate it. An upright piano was along the shorter wall of the room surrounded on either side by very grand book shelves, eight feet tall. Old, leather bound books lined the very top shelves. Hardback books, some compact and small, some large and over sized filled the other shelves. Small piles of Ross' more modern paperbacks were set in front of the older books here and there. The bottom two shelves of each case were filled with Coloured Fairy Books, anthologies of folk tales and ancient myths and legends and many art books, some with color plates, that had, most likely, belonged to Ross' mother. There was a stack of very old Vogue magazines, about a foot high, on top of the piano. There was a layer of dust over them as well as the fabric runner underneath them.  
In the corner on the other side of the room, next to a primitive, carved rocking horse - meant for a toddler by the size of it- were eight guitar cases. Three bulbous, acoustic ones and five, identical, hard case, rectangle ones which promised electric guitars. Demelza had a feeling Ross wouldn't mind her peeking, so long as she set them back as they were. As she fell asleep some nights, she could hear Ross playing, faintly. She was impressed by the way he could play very hard, intricate pieces without looking at his hands. It seemed so magical. One acoustic case was empty, so this was the home of the Gibson on its stand in the parlor. It was jet black with a silver scroll design around the hole. It looked like what Ross would be if a wizard cast a spell and turned him into a guitar. It suited him and, clearly, he liked it best. There were two more, pale wood guitars. One Gibson and one with a makers label pasted inside the body of a brand she did not recognize. Gently, carefully, she turned her attention to the other cases. Demelza held her breath as she opened the latches of the first rectangle case. It was a black Fender Stratocaster, at once glamorous and utilitarian.  
There are many myths, legends and fairy tales in which a young maiden explores the secreted possessions of the master of the house. Finding scandal, courting ruin, finding the key that unlocks treasure or a garment that can bewitch and beguile... In this tale, the story of Demelza Carne, her nervous exploration of Ross' guitars - 'would he mind...?' - was the beginning of a love affair that would change her life. Demelza enjoyed messing around on the piano at school. Ross had a piano and she was allowed to use it, even though it was woefully out of tune. But, on a rainy afternoon in June of 1964, Demelza was struck by an urge to learn guitar. Not just play guitar, but to unlock all its secrets and fall into its mysteries. It was like a physical pain, this instrument at her knees that she had no handhold into controlling or taming. She must learn to play the guitar...  
More intriguing, all five hard cases held the same style of Fender Stratocaster. They were identical, save the last which was more worn than the others. Small nicks and rubs where one could see the wood under the paint and carved at the bottom, under the string holder was a heart. The paint was scraped and gouged away into a heart shape about two inches high. That the others were so pristine and this one so overused, loved enough that he actually carved a heart in it, gave Demelza a warm feeling towards Ross who was so moody and strange sometimes. He often seemed distant and perhaps a little lonely too. There was a part of Ross that was closed off and dark even as he was able to smile and joke and be kind. This older Strat seemed to be a window into all that was nice about Ross. A tell-tale heart...  
She set the cases as she remembered them to have been and stole out of the library. Her eyes lit like lamps. Demelza's tale of enchantment had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tales Of Brave Ulysses, Cream 1967


	4. 8 Miles High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fab Four  
The needle and the damage done  
Promises kept

I. Downtown

Verity laughed as Demelza skipped ahead of her on the pavement and swung herself by the length of one arm around a lamp post before skipping once more. Having seen the new Beatles film, A Hard Days Night, in a London cinema full of excited girls, Verity wondered which Beatle had taken hold of Demelza's heart - Cute Paul? Cheeky john? Quiet George? Daffy Ringo...? But Demelza was not dreaming of romance, though she had fallen head first in love. She was not dreaming of the Fab Four as objects of desire. Demelza was excited by the movie as if it was an occupational training film. She was going to play guitar and have a band. Just like The Beatles, just like Ross. She was dreaming about how wonderful it would be to play music and make music and run around having adventures with your mates. Her heart was overfull as if it would burst with happiness. The Beatles were her Pied Piper, leading her into a set of dreams that she could just about touch...something that could be made real if she worked at her fingering and learned her craft...  
Verity smiled. Demelza was enjoying being with Verity in London as the second week came to an end. They would go back to Nampara and, she suspected, she would not see Ross and Demelza until November, maybe even Christmas. Verity had begged many favors - getting time from the museum to help Ross with his problems but it was time for her to remain in London and get back to work. If Ross really had quit drugs while she looked after Demelza it would be a relief. She had little option to keep helping Ross this year if he had not.  
Verity and Demelza took the train from Truro, which was a little over five hours. But Verity had her Agatha Christie novels and Demelza was absorbed by Ross' Pete Seeger Guitar tutor instruction manual, a booklet supplied with a record to help learn guitar, so the commute was nothing. Verity brought Demelza to the museum where she worked, took her to Hyde Park. They strolled through the antique stalls and the book shops with their wares stacked out side. They enjoyed the homey comforts of making meals in Ross' flat and Demelza introduced Verity to Ready Steady Go! Verity had watched Top of the Pops but had not seen RSG! which, she had to admit, was much more exciting for they edited all the acts with little room between them. One kept getting hit with each performance like some sort of pop music machine gun. And they had a segment to teach the latest dance steps so Verity felt very up to date by the time the program had finished. All the ways London could give a girl happiness were laid out in front of Demelza like a magic carpet. And, all the while, Verity hoped that Ross would conquer his troubles.

II. Green Green Grass Of Home

Ten hours later, Ross tried the door.  
Twenty-two hours later, Ross tried the door.  
On the second day, Ross tried the door.  
Each day for four days, at some point, Ross crawled to the front door and tried to get out.  
On the fifth day, he lay next to the door, despondent, but, strangely, not in pain. A twilight feeling of being here and not here simultaneously...

He saw red. Why red? His eyes were closed and sunlight was coloring his vision through his closed eyes. He lay on his back, on the grass. He was outside of the gatehouse. Jud had followed his instructions. Ross was not to be let out of the gatehouse for six days. On this, the sixth day, he must have crawled out but he had no memory of doing so.  
His face hurt. He put his hand to the side of his face and flinched. He saw blood on his palm, he was bleeding. He had cut himself some how. He stared at his blood. It was official. Having sweated, cried from the pain, pissed himself, shat himself, drooled and vomited on himself, with his nose running and his face bleeding , he was now covered in every fluid his body produced. But, for all that filth, for all that, Ross was clean. He had done it. Ross had gone through the worst physical pain in his life, but he had kicked.  
Ross had been too proud to register himself as an addict in Truro, but he was not too proud to leave Demelza in Jud and Prudie's care and go back to London where he could still receive scripts before his ration at Nampara ran out.  
He spent that first night and day in the London flat blissfully high. Gloriously high. High like the old days. If only it could always be like this... His careful management of his heroin in Cornwall kept him only just together. It was a blessed relief to shoot a sensible amount for a change... Ross lay in his room. The light swept across the walls as the sun came up, the sun went down. He found himself awake in the dark. He dragged himself to the chippie to get something to eat. He ate in the kitchen, racked with guilt. Ross plucked bits of fish and chips from the newspaper wrapping with his fingers, staring at an Alice in Wonderland book sitting across from him at the edge of the table. Beyond, was the garden door where Demelza and Garrick had been a few weeks ago, after Verity told him off, smacking his face to try to rouse him from his nod. He'd come downstairs after Verity left and Demelza, sensing movement in the kitchen, turned and smiled at him through the garden door. She had been reading fairy tales to her dog while she waited for Ross to ' wake up from his nap'... She was happy to see him, happy to trust in him. 'What the hell am I doing?' thought Ross, glumly looking at his greasy fingers, the mild shake in them as he held a chip pinched between his fingers. 'I'm in my own house, eating like a vagrant, fixing up again.' He'd taken Demelza away from her father, left her at Nampara and slunk away, abandoning her to smack like a villain. He asked Verity to help him. He'd promised Verity he would quit but the task seemed so arduous...could she stay with Demelza in London while he kicked at Nampara? "Of course, Ross." Verity's kindness flowed through the receiver. Ross hung up and laid his head on the table. The only thing left to do was fight.  
Heroin is a seductive and faithless friend. As one uses, the portions of the brain that make dopamine start to fail, for the drug floods the user with so much, the body shrugs and decides it doesn't need to take the responsibility on anymore. When addiction takes hold, the addict must use again for the body is crippled by lack of having to make the brain's chemicals itself. Rather than start back up immediately, it stalls. The body must relearn how to resume managing on its own - not only because it stopped, but because the heroin was so insidious in providing the large, false amounts the body had become used to.  
This process, this period of time it takes for the body's biological steps of creating its own chemicals to return to its balance, leaves the addict "dope sick". One can ride the sickness for the duration, there by breaking the cycle of addiction, but it is incredibly hard to do.The physical discomfort is harrowing and most addicts, even when they dearly want to quit, give up and take more drugs to stop the pain and extreme symptoms of withdrawal. In order to feel normal, they must take the drug and become locked in a cycle of addiction. Stopping feels like a frightening way to die and most cannot get to the other side. They need heroin to function and hold the withdrawal sickness at bay.  
Ross rolled over on his side, leaving the cut on his face exposed to the open air, shifting in the stiffened clothes, saturated and dried. He looked out across the grass. He lay on the same land he'd played upon as a child and felt a wave of sorrow come over him. For kicking is only half the battle.  
Ross stared at the blood on his palm before using the back of his hand to wipe across his eyes. Why does anyone escape into the embrace of drug use? Why is the needle seen as a friend? To push aside what you don't want to face. What you don't want to feel. What you don't want to deal with. Covered in a weeks worth of horror in the fresh air of a July afternoon, Ross curled up into a fetal ball and cried for an hour. Each time Ross shot up, it was an attempt to run away from the tears he shed so freely now. The old guilt of his sibling rivalry - not realizing Claude was dying as he glowered over his mother's obsessive attention to his younger brother. His grief for his mother. What wouldn't he give to feel her arms around him now, on the same ground where he took his first steps towards her? The love she'd given him, the happiness in her eyes when he was eleven and she gave him his first Fender Stratocaster at Christmas, her gentle, tired smile as she died, fighting to give him the gift of a smile even though she was in so much pain. His embarrassment over his father's unrepentant notoriety - he'd made a spectacle of himself and Ross kept pretending it meant nothing to him, that he didn't care. He loved and missed the old man, for all his antics... His guilt over Elizabeth's drug use, shrugging off his culpability even as he could see her spinning out of control. The sadness over losing her and his crushed dream...And shame. Shame for what he felt was his own weakness. Why does anyone believe that they will be the one person who can master their habit and not become an addict? How often did Ross lay his head on his desk and feel shame that his life had shrunk to watching the hours pass until he could file into the late night chemists and slink off with what he craved? All these dark and difficult, guilt ridden emotions took their turn through him and Ross could see that letting himself feel them, naming them and acknowledging these deep pains of the soul, cleansed him as much as kicking did. Lifted a weight he had carried so long. Facing the things he'd run away from for so long. All these pieces of himself he'd stuffed down and denied, the parts of his life he could not bear to face. He felt them dissipate. Ross felt freed. Free to start to release his guilt, release his shame, allow himself to start to set his feet on the path he feared for so long, for self knowledge can be the hardest trial. Ross lay still with the sun turning his inner eye red as he rode his emotional turmoil and faced things he had denied and feared for years. The false friend of heroin, turned aside. The start of allowing himself to heal. His muscles ached, he desperately needed a bath, he had eaten some bread but now needed a proper meal. He drank some water but now he wanted a brandy. Not out of self medication or addiction, but a drink in triumph. He had kicked heroin. He had kept his promise to Verity. He could hold his head up and look after Demelza who would play and roll around with her silly little dog as they both grew up on this same land where he had grown. He kept his promise and helped himself. He had engineered his own redemption. He would have his bath, he would have his brandy, but now, Ross slept. A deep sleep he had not managed for ages. No nightmares and no dreams either. He was healing from the ground up in the soft scented grass.

III. With A Little Help From My friends

"You look like shite!"  
Ross sat on the floor with his legs extended and his head leaned back on the seat of one of the old wooden benches by the parlor wall. He wore a pale linen shirt, carelessly half unbuttoned and black jeans. His hair had grown longer. He wore equestrian style, black leather boots. Ross was pale, had a jagged scar, red and angry looking near one eye and dark circles under his eyes. He looked a bit like an 18th century rake, recovering from a duel. Ross slowly opened his eyes and gave a withering look.  
"Thank you, Ned." Smirked Ross.  
"When are you gonna quit taking that shite, Ross?" Ned tsked.  
"I did."  
"You never..." Ned and Dwight looked at each other and then to Ross in surprise.  
"I did. I kicked three days ago."  
Ross gave them a tired but satisfied smile. Ross had cheerfully burnt the clothes he'd worn, so caked with every kind of dirt and filth his body could produce. He and Jud cleaned the gatehouse. Other than the scar on his face, there was no more evidence. No one would ever know the extremes Ross had suffered to get to this point. He considered the scar a badge of honor.  
"What happened?" asked Dwight. Ned and Dwight had discussed breaking up after the record was done. Ross seemed so far gone. That he would quit heroin seemed like a miracle.  
Ross sighed. "It was time. And now there's a kid in the house..."  
"What?!" Ned's eyes widened. "What do you mean, 'a kid'?"  
Ross chuckled, "It's a long story..."

Demelza and Verity were due back tomorrow. Ned and Dwight were installed in the gatehouse, assured that the aggressive smell of Dettol disinfectant would dissipate soon. They would work, write and wrap up the songs for the album and rehearse in Cornwall. Ross wanted some distance from London. His pride in his new sobriety was hard won but he was not so foolish to risk backsliding in the capital. Resurgam would get it together in the country. Ross looked forward to it. He would eat proper meals instead of a steady diet of grease, work with Dwight and Ned at Nampara instead of a London rehearsal room and look after a young schoolgirl and her dog. And be clean. Ross would stay clean. His steps forward from this point would be free of drugs and with a firmer commitment to his band and himself, they would all thrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Downtown, Petula Clark 1964  
Green Green Grass Of Home, Tom Jones 1966  
With A little Help From My Friends, The Beatles 1967  
8 Miles High, The Byrds 1969


	5. You Can't Do That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fab Four

Perhaps destined to become the most famous opening of any rock and roll song, the chord that begins The Beatles 'Hard Day's Night' is not straightforward.  
G7sus4  
"It's been a..."  
G7sus4  
"It's been a hard day's ni..."  
Gsus4  
"It's been a hard da.."  
G7sus4  
"What in hell is that child doing?" laughed Ned, "Whacha doin', girl?" As Ned, Dwight and Ross entered the parlor.  
Demelza whined, "I can hear it but I can't get it right!  
Demelza's determination and dedication to practicing had already proved fruitful. She was playing simple chords and some basic songs very well for someone just beginning. Ross, somewhat inclined to be indulgent in the weeks following his successful bid to quit heroin, let her use his acoustic, maple body Gibson. It lived on a stand in the parlor next to the black Gibson he used exclusively. At the moment it was hanging on Demelza, from its strap as she kept placing the record needle on and off as she struggled to figure out the chord. Ross smiled. Dwight cocked his head.  
"Play the record again, Dem."  
"It's been a hard day's night and I've been..." Ross lifted the needle again.  
"It's been a..."  
"You can't do that, Demelza," said Ross "That's not a straight chord and Harrison uses a twelve string, not a six string. A Rickenbacker." As annoyed as Demelza was to hear this, she smiled briefly to hear the note of scorn in Ross' voice when he said 'Rickenbacker'. She knew Ross considered them inelegant.  
"But..." Demelza looked sulky.  
Ross smiled. "Dwight, can you play a D?" Dwight chuckled. "Sure thing!" Dwight set his case on the floor, took out his bass and put it on.  
"O.K., Dem. 1,2,3..."They strummed in unison.  
It was still not quite right. Demelza stamped her foot in irritation and Garrick started to bark. Ned sat on the wooden pew closest to her.  
"Don't fret, Dem," he said "That's got to be an overdub." explaining that multiple tracks were mixed together to make that chord on the recording. Ross sat across from Ned as Dwight put his bass back in its case.  
"You have to walk before you can run, Demelza." Ross said. He said it gently, amused at her fixation over it. She set the guitar down on the floor to hug Garrick. He wriggled in her arms and licked her face. She scratched his ears.  
"They shouldn't tease people like that!" she harumphed.  
Dwight laughed, "Records don't have to follow those sorts of rules. We're using some overdubs too!"  
"Yeah, but when you play the songs live, they sound right!" she grumbled.  
Ned joked,"The girls in the audience scream so loud, it don't matter what The Beatles play anyway!" That made Ross and Dwight laugh and Demelza cross. She went out to play with Garrick, still scheming over how to play the chord.  
School was off in the distance but coming nearer as July turned to August. Demelza played in the Long Field with Garrick and played at the edge of the sea at Nampara Cove, the stretch of beach that was still Poldark land, still in possession of the family. Ross' land after the death of his father. She was diligent in her practice to learn guitar and Ross promised that he would get the piano tuned in the autumn so she could have lessons. She was doted on by Prudie, could occasionally sweet talk Jud out of his grumpy moods and win a rare smile from him. She joked and laughed with Ned and Dwight and became a disciple of Ross who spent a little of his practice time each night teaching her as well.  
When she came back from staying in London with Verity, she was surprised to find Ross' band members living in the gatehouse and Ross had some sort of accident. There was a frightening looking scar by his eye. He shrugged it off, "I had a bad fall..." he said. It made him look more intense. When he played his black Gibson, deep in concentration, he looked like a warlock or a pirate.  
Demelza's back had healed, though it would take years for the scars to fade. She was eating more and lost a bit of her gaunt look. She had cause to smile everyday rather than cry or be harmed. She had a commitment to her ardent goal - to learn to play the guitar. Ross was satisfied that his brash decision to keep the runaway he'd found was the correct one. Resurgam did their work. Ross felt stronger and more clear headed as he left his drug use behind and they became, if not a family, then a group of kindred spirits who had a great deal of happiness being their own gang.  
Ross, Ned and Dwight went out to Truro in Dwight's Morris Minor. There were no music or instrument shops in nearby Sawle and they needed some bits and pieces. Ross bought more guitar strings for himself and Demelza and wrestled with the impulse of looking about the pawn shops and second hand instruments for a twelve string guitar. He told himself it would be good to have one in the house if it wasn't too dear and chided himself for going soft as he bought it. Ross had come to enjoy Demelza's dogged fight with that Beatles chord and it would be charming to see her crack it. That was never going to happen on a six string... It didn't have a case, so Ross picked up another stand for it. Dwight and Ned were as amused over Dem's persistence and looked forward to seeing her face when the homely but sturdy twelve string graced the Nampara parlor.  
They stopped at the grocers in Sawle before they went back to Nampara. Ned and Dwight ate with Ross and Demelza at the house but kept a bit in at the gatehouse, tea, beer, this and that. Ross was in a different aisle from them, looking at the biscuits when he heard two tittering, whispering ladies in the aisle behind him.  
"Bold as brass!"  
"It's a disgrace..."  
"She may not even be twelve! I think he just gives out that she's twelve, she looks far too young!"  
"What's the world coming to...?"  
Ross had a delayed reaction to this conversation. At first, though he heard the words, he didn't quite believe they could be speaking about him. He left the aisle and walked out of the shop. He sat on the hood of Dwight's car, waiting for Ned and Dwight to finish their shopping. He sat hunched over and scowling. One should have expected you can't do that. Can't bring a young girl into your home without some sharp tongues thinking the worst. Wicked, empty gossip...don't they have better things to do than slander people...? They drove back home. Dwight asked Ross if something was wrong. He had lost his earlier, light mood and retreated into a dark one. Ross looked out of the passenger window and sighed. "Nothing's wrong. I've done nothing wrong..."  
"Judas!"  
Demleza started immediately. She thanked them all profusely and then scurried off to her room with the twelve string. At dinner she grinned like the Cheshire Cat all through the meal. Dwight smiled. "Have you made progress, George?" They all laughed. Demelza smiled and nodded her head 'Yes', a little blush colored each cheek.  
"You reckon you cracked it, girl?" asked Ned.  
"It sounds more like it," she admitted, " It's missing some tone..."  
"The D?" asked Ross.  
"I guess..."  
Ned smiled, "You lot need to come to ours." Ned's drums were at the gatehouse.  
The gatehouse was as cozy as Nampara with yet another inviting old farmhouse table and light colored walls that made the rooms friendly looking. The kitchenette was cheerful. Ross sat up on the counter by the sink with his beer as Demelza had blackcurrant juice and Dwight and Ned, beers of their own. After that refreshment they gathered around Ned and his drums, who was happy to become Ringo. Ross became Paul and Dwight, John. Demelza's eyes sparkled with happiness as she said,  
"A one, a two, a three!"

And, what rang out, clear as a bell and correct, was the chord.

The song collapsed because Demelza was jumping up and down with the twelve string on, screaming with glee and as excited as if she were six, not twelve. Resurgam fell about laughing.  
"Dem." said Ross, trying to sound stern, but failing.  
"Ais!!" she giggled. Ross ducked his chin and started laughing in earnest. He looked younger when he was that happy and it made Demelza happy to see it at the rare times it occurred.  
"Right, Dem," he smiled, "let's get the job done."  
Ned clicked his sticks four times and Resurgam, accompanied by a special guest, played 'A Hard Day's Night'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't Do That, The Beatles 1964


	6. School Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becoming porcelain

Demelza looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was braided as neatly as she could manage into two plaits. Her white shirt and red tie glowed against her bottle green pinafore with a small embroidered crest over her left breast. A green and red shield with an open book and a dove in flight over it. "Honorem et Sapietia", Honor and Wisdom, the motto of her new school, Hempel.  
Verity had given her a very fine, oxblood leather satchel and Mary Jane shoes the same color. Ross gave her pocket money to buy sweets after school and an encouraging hug before she trotted off in her finery. He watched her go off into the distance. Garrick escorted her as far as the gate. She gave him a cuddle before she walked out of view. Her dark blue coat and tights made the green hem of the pinafore peeking out show brightly.  
After much consideration, Ross chose Hempel as Demelza's school. It was all girls and the best in the district. That it was the gentry school gave Ross pause, at first. Demelza might feel more comfortable among the working class children at the village school. But Ross felt she was clever enough to meet the rigors of the better school and he'd be neglectful of her if he kept her 'in her place', Dem was a lady, he told himself. A diamond that needed a bit of polishing to bring her gifts to the light. Verity went to a different boarding school but said Hempel had a good reputation, so that counted for something. Ross was sure it would work out. Demelza was a clever girl.

"Ladies," said the headmistress, "We shall welcome our newest pupil, Demelza Carne."  
"Hello." said Demelza as she stood next to her and faced the other students, seated in front of her.  
"Hello, Miss Carne." They sounded a bit like bleating sheep in unison. Their accents were quite different to hers. She was gestured to sit at the pew in the front of the small auditorium and, along with the rest of the student body, was treated to the headmistress' admonishment to them all to take their studies seriously and conduct themselves with the sorority, good fellowship and honor that befit a "Hempel Girl".  
Demelza listened as she looked around the room. The place resembled a church, though it was not a religious school, all swooping ceilings and old wood. A trophy case for sport cups and rosettes lined the hall as they went to their classrooms. She felt everyone's eyes on her. New girl. Demelza looked at the other girls. In their identical uniforms, one could believe they were equal, but she could feel them sizing her up as "other". She would guard against saying 'ais' here.  
After school, on the way back to Nampara, Demelza stopped at the post office that doubled as a convenience shop and bought a quarter of lemon drops. There were village kids there as well, buying candy, who went to school in town. As she went away from the counter, she nearly collided with a young girl. They avoided it and the girl said, meekly, "Sorry, miss." Demelza's eyebrows nearly flew off her face. "It be fine, I should have looked where I was goin.'" The other kids looked struck with wonder. The girl asked, as if shaking herself awake from a dream, "You go t' Hempel?"  
"Ais!" said Demelza, smiling. Their mouths fell open.  
Demelza shared out her lemon drops with Jinny and Emma as they walked up the lane before Demelza turned off to return to Nampara. They waved goodbye at the crest of the hill, still gobsmacked that a girl like Demelza attended Hempel. 'She's so normal', they thought.

Ross had no cause to find anything amiss as September turned to October. Demelza seemed content and did her homework in the parlor, often as he Dwight and Ned talked and worked by the hearth. Ned was not so sure. Little Dem was quieter these days, true, kids feel more free during the summer hols, but she seemed a little too quiet and seemed to give Garrick hugs for her own benefit more than the dog's. They were working through lyrics, after dinner, as Ned heard her sharp intake of breath and a book snap shut. She got up to leave. Ross looked up from the exercise book they were using.  
"You going to bed, Dem? Did you finish your homework?" asked Ross  
"Ais." she said quietly as she left the parlor. Ross frowned. She had not used her older speech for 'yes' for some time now. She said 'yes' more often than not. Ned harumphed, got up from the bench and surveyed the table where Dem left her work. There was a set of history questions half done. He picked up the history book. "Hmmm..." Ned leafed through it. He scowled and turned the book outward to show Ross and Dwight 'Slag' was scrawled across one of the pages in red ink. Dwight looked dumbfounded and Ross very angry. Ross growled sarcastically, "I see Hempel is still demanding ladylike behavior from its students."  
"Poor Demelza!" said Dwight. "Why would someone do that?!" Ross sighed. "Dem is more of a lady than the entire school combined but I expect some of the little beasts just consider her a working class girl." Ned put the book back on the table. "They need a good hiding!" Ross sighed again. "I'll bring it to the headmistress' attention, but you were in school, Ned, you know how kids can be." Ned snickered "I'd, for sure, give 'em a good hiding!"  
"I'm not sure girls do that," said Ross. "She has made some friends but there's always the sort that don't want to lose a chance to set themselves at the top of their hierarchy."

The next morning, Ross came into the kitchen as Dem ate her porridge with a dour expression on her face. Ross sat across from her and said, "That is not the countenance of someone eager to go to school." Demelza looked at Ross and he could see her struggle to decide what to say. Ross was angry on her behalf for he thought she was a brilliant girl and should not be insulted by a pack of gentry bullies.  
"You need to finish your history work, Dem, but last night, Ned saw that someone defaced your book..." She blinked glumly and set her spoon in her bowl. "They all d' hate me..." she whispered, eyes downcast.  
"All?!" Ross was alarmed.  
"Ruth and her friends." said Demelza.  
Ross rolled his eyes. Ruth Teague's mother was older than him, closer in age to his late father. It seemed the daughter was as haughty and judging as she was. The apple had not fallen far from the tree. He was relieved to know it was just a clique rather than all the girls, but Ross knew how mean a group could be when they homed in on a target.  
"Demelza, I will tell the headmistress. Bullies rely on silence. They should not be allowed to get away with it."  
"Yes, Ross." She said, woodenly as she took up her spoon again. Ross looked at her sympathetically.  
"Demelza?" She looked up at him.  
"You must not keep your troubles to yourself. Trouble me. That's what I'm here for. I shall not have you shoulder your problems alone." She looked to Ross, who was always so kind to her and nodded as her eyes started to tear. Ross looked to her in alarm.  
"Demelza?"  
"I just don't see how things can change, " she bit her bottom lip, "I'll only ever be me," she said, sadly, "I'll only ever be common..."  
Ross felt an unruly anger well up in him. How dare those spoiled little brats make Demelza feel small! "You are anything but common!" He paused, being indignant would not help her. He got up and ripped off a piece of kitchen roll so she could dry her eyes. He folded the paper towel so it wouldn't be too big and handed it to her. "Thanks..." she murmured as she daubed her eyes. Ross sat back down. "It is Wednesday Dem. You only have to make it to Friday, can you manage?" he asked. "Yes, Ross." She did not look away.  
"I will tell the headmistress of these antagonisms today. I will call the school this morning." She looked down into her bowl again.  
"You are every bit as worthy as anyone else at Hempel. You hold your chin up, Demelza. They entertain themselves by trying to get you to doubt yourself. They aren't worth your notice and they aren't worth believing. You are strong and smart and beautiful and they are jealous." Demelza looked at Ross sharply. No one had ever told her something like that before. He continued. "You do not have to change for anyone, Dem. You be yourself."  
She blinked prettily, sat up a little straighter and smiled.  
"Yes, Ross."

"Oi, Dem! You need to give that Ruth a smack round the gob!"  
"Ned!" Ross said sharply with a sidelong glance. That was the last thing they needed.  
"Ross!" Ned countered, "That's the only thing a little cow like that will pay mind to!" Ned nodded in Demelza's direction as she stood at the parlor doorway, "You show 'em who's boss, girl!"  
Dwight laughed. "I'm not sure Ned is giving you the best advice, Dem." Demelza could not help but smile as she walked into the parlor and sat down. Other Hempel girls went home to their mums or their maids. She came home to Resurgam.  
While they were working at Nampara, they took a break when Demelza got home from school and had a quaint snack of milk and biscuits before they resumed and Dem started her homework. "Milk will do Ned some good," joked Dwight, "Help rinse the booze out of his poor liver!" Ned flipped two fingers at Dwight as he bit into a chocolate digestive. They all laughed.  
"Any problems today?" Ross asked with concern and seriousness.  
"No, They got told off, though." They could see that this did not please her and, of course, they knew why. Retaliation was assured. How and when was the only mystery.  
"Well let me know if there's any more problems. I'll not have you be given grief while you are at school."  
She looked at Ross and Ned and Dwight with gratitude. They wanted to help her and she never had that kind of assistance before. She gave them a wide and happy smile.  
"Yes, Ross."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School Days, Chuck Berry 1957
> 
> 'Hail, hail rock and roll  
Deliver me from the days of old  
Long live rock and roll  
The beat of the drums, loud and bold  
Rock, rock, rock and roll  
The feelin' is there, body and soul.'


	7. Hazy Shade Of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the mouths of babes  
Do you hear what I hear?  
Home is where the heart is
> 
> December 1966

I. Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?

"Ross?"  
"MmmHmm..." Ross was bent down, having slung his army rucksack onto the floor by two of the Fender cases in the hall. It was a week before Christmas and they would spend it in London. "Why is it you never use the fifth Fender?" Demelza had peeked once. Ross had five, identical black Fender Statocasters, but the fifth, presumably the oldest one-scratched, paint worn away in places and a heart scraped into the front-never left its case. Ross stood up and turned to face her. "It's retired." This was not a satisfactory answer. Dem followed him into the parlor as Garrick trotted next to her. "But why?" Ross turned to look at her. He was about to put his Gibson in its case. They would load the car and drive to the flat tomorrow. He set it back on its stand. "You want your Gibson with us?" The maple six string had been Ross' but Dem had used it for two years and laid claim of ownership in that way. "Yes please." she said. "Is it broken? Is that why you don't use it?" Ross smiled a tired smile. Dem could see she had poked a sore spot with him. "I'm sorry, Ross I didn't mean to annoy you..." He sighed. "It's alright, Dem." He sat on one of the pews and nodded that she should sit across from him. She and Garrick came to sit, she across from Ross and Garrick at her feet.  
"That was my first electric guitar. My mother gave it to me for Christmas when I was eleven. After she died, I didn't play it anymore." He paused. "Papa bought me my second one and I bought the others. One in a pawn shop in New York and the other two in London. One new, one second hand but practically new." He looked at his lap, briefly, then looked up and continued. "It isn't broken, I just don't use it anymore." Dem felt sorry for Ross. And sympathy. Dem had nothing to link her with her late mother, it seemed a shame that he didn't use it, a direct link to his mother. "Not even on Christmas?" Ross looked at her with a mixture of amusement and bafflement. "What?" She was relieved to see Ross looking bemused, she worried she might have made him cross. "I mean, it was your Christmas present, your Christmas guitar! You don't play it at Christmas?" Ross smiled. Dem had a horrible father who had beaten her to a degree that should have gotten him sent down to prison. This was the wedge that allowed Ross to look after her, the leverage he kept over Tom Carne. Dem constantly amazed Ross with her capacity to see the good in things. In spite of her nightmarish upbringing and no mother to bring her up, she saw the good in things more clearly than he chose to most of the time. He sighed. "No, Dem. Not even at Christmas." They smiled. Ross gave a chuckle. "Are you packed?" Dem smiled. "Yes! My case is all packed!" "Good," said Ross, "Bring it down before you go to bed. I want to sort out packing the car in the morning.

That night, Ross stared at the canopy of his bed. It had been his parent's bed. He hadn't quite thought about it in those terms until tonight. He might have been conceived where he was lying right now. Ross missed his parents. Joshua was, admittedly, self centered after Grace died. But he had noticed that he had not heard Ross' guitar, had not had to grumble and demand that Ross turn the volume down on the amplifier. When Ross, tearfully, told his father he could not bear to use his Fender, Joshua marched him into the car, drove to Truro, bought another black Stratocaster and drove back to Nampara. Joshua was not a demonstrative parent. He was from a time and place where it was seen to be spoiling and a mark of weakness to show too much affection as a man. Cuddles and affection were a woman's domain. But that day, when Papa bought his second Fender, Ross felt his love as if he had hugged him. He felt his love then... He turned about. Ross could not settle. He pulled on his jeans and went downstairs to the library. He turned on the light on the desk and turned to the three guitar cases. Having told himself he was bringing the small amp into the hall, to pack the car, he lifted the amplifier and set it next to Dem's suitcase. But he went back to the library and knelt down by the rectangular guitar cases. He hesitated. He pulled out the one on the left and set it flat. He closed his eyes and bent his head, as if he were in prayer-though he was not. He steeled himself.  
Upon opening the case, his eyes, at once, went to the heart he had carved in it. A child's toy in some ways. Utterly abused by a silly kid who probably didn't deserve a guitar of this quality at that young an age. The paint was chipped, worn away and rubbed off in places. It had been bonked about and scratched. He'd carved a heart in it with his penknife, after his mother died. A destructive impulse but a heartfelt one. He'd learned his craft on this Strat. It was the progenitor of its siblings for he remained loyal to this style of Fender and considered all other electric guitars-even other Fender models-somewhat suspect. Lacking. Other styles lacked what the Strat gave Ross. Stratocasters were unadorned but strangely elegant. They were precisely the right heft. No more, no less. He brushed his fingers across the heart. The gouges and scratches and grooved marks of the poor job he had made of it he could feel as he touched it. It was an intense form of braille. He had loved her. He shut the case, set it back in its place and went back to bed.

The car was packed and they set out on their journey. Garrick lay on the floor of the backseat next to Dem who had the maple Gibson and strummed and played as Ross drove. He enjoyed her accompaniment as they drove along. She was a quick study and had a very good ear. Her obsessive attention to his blues records gave her the strong grasp of playing the blues she showed now. He chided himself. She was no different than him or any other blues mad British boy but even he caught himself thinking, 'she plays well, for a girl...' He knew he wouldn't think twice about a fourteen year old boy playing that well. He smiled. Dem was probably the only positive outcome from his heroin addiction. If he hadn't been on his way, in the dead of night, to get his script filled with all the other late night junkies, they would have never met. Dem was his pal. He looked after her and they enjoyed music together. Her coming to live at Nampara spared her from her father's abuse and was the impetus for him to get clean. Her Majesty's government changed its tack with addicts. Had he remained registered Ross would have ended up under the new regime. Having grown alarmed at the increase in heroin users, the government began cracking down. Ross might have ended up arrested. Or dead. It wasn't lost on Ross that he had been losing his battle with smack. If he kept on, he might have died. Dem started singing. She could sing very well. That a fourteen year old Cornish girl did not sound like a black, Southern blues man was not an understatement.

I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now, save poor Bob if you please"  
Ooh, standin' at the crossroad, tried to flag a ride  
Ooh-ee, I tried to flag a ride  
Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by  
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down  
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, eee-eee, risin' sun goin' down  
I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down

Ross laughed softly. They sped along the motorway. "Have you got the blues, Dem?" He saw her smile in the rear view mirror. "Sure I do! Doesn't everyone get the blues sometimes?" She played the Crossroad Blues intro again and treated Ross to 'The Demelza Carne blues'

I got the Hempel common  
Cottage pudding, semolina  
Spotted Dick blues...

Ross thumped one hand on the steering wheel and started laughing. Garrick started to bark.

I got the Ruth Teague  
Wretched horror  
Little bitch  
Hempel common blues

I'm gonna smack her round the gob  
And kick her with my shoes...

Ross was laughing in earnest. Garrick stood up in the car and barked louder. "Dem!" Ross was laughing like a little boy. "If you don't want me to crash the car, you're going to have to play something sensible!"  
The drive to London was very long but, somehow, Ross and Demelza did not mind it.

II. Burning Of The Midnight Lamp

Ross watched Dem, serenely, gliding past in a different aisle of Sainsbury's to him. This confused him until he realized she was standing on the back of the shopping trolley that Dwight was pushing so her feet were not on the ground. The other, well heeled, shoppers studiously ignored the spectacle of Dem, Dwight and Ned loudly debating the merits of the groceries they were choosing. Ross had laughed more in the past 48 hours than he may have done in years. This was a happy time for their first album sold well and had pleased EMI, the tour they were scheduled to have in Europe was all arranged and they had played Blaises Club to a judgmental audience of industry types and their peers and came away victorious. Resurgam felt like young gods by the end of the night. Ross enjoyed himself immensely and now would enjoy the holiday. They would return to Blaises tomorrow, to hang out. London was buzzing with excitement over a guy who'd come over from America with Chas Chandler, one of the members of The Animals. Ross wanted to see if all the hype was justified. They would have their Christmas dinner at the flat. Ross was voted down when he suggested a restaurant. Ned was particularly against it. "Only waifs n' strays don't have a home to go to Christmastime! You wouldn't catch me in a restaurant!" So with Dem swanning to the cash desk like a princess on a parade float, they bought a handsome piece of beef and all the trimmings for a roast dinner, a Christmas pudding in a plastic basin, candy and nuts, a box of Christmas crackers and food for Garrick.

December 22, 1966

Ross insisted that they get to Blaises, a club in the basement of the Imperial Hotel, early. Much earlier than a 'cool' scenester would. Things would not kick off for hours and hours but Ross wanted a table near the stage and he intended to camp there until this American bloke turned up. Ross also brought a Strat with him. At holiday time, it wasn't unheard of to simply jam for the fun of it and there would be hours to kill before things really got going. Dem was excited for she had a cute mini dress, dark blue with red piping on the pockets and a placket of shiny red buttons at the neck, blue tights and a pair of short black boots with a little kitten heel. She felt very grown up. Ned had a dark blue fisherman's sweater, over a white tee shirt, blue jeans and rather clunky boots on, for he wasn't playing and didn't have to use his feet on the bass drum today. Dwight had a button down shirt that looked patterned in dark green, like flowers, but actually had little faces in it, if one got close enough to look and dark trousers with thick soled brogue shoes. Ross wore a ragged looking henley jumper, once black but faded to grey over a black tee shirt that showed the state of the fading worse, black jeans and black riding boots. It was contrary, but the tattiness of the sweater, one he favored at wintertime for it was thick and warm, made him look more regal somehow. His hair seemed darker and glossier and his scar, properly healed but still visible made him look serious, mysterious. They were a formidable group in a room filling up with the cream of London's music scene. Dem was startled to see Jeff Beck. This guitarist had the city in a lather of anticipation. Dem was more surprised when it was clear he knew Resurgam and they knew him. He exchanged a nodded greeting with Ross from across the room as the guitarist went for a drink and his girlfriend gravitated to the two tables in the middle of the room, both filled with wives, girlfriends. After a time, one of the ladies came to their table. "Merry Christmas, lads!" To a man they raised their glasses to her. "Merry Christmas!" said Ross. "And who is this?" she said, turning to Dem. "I'm Dem!" Demelza read enough music papers to know she was speaking to a rock wife of renown. "Come and sit with us, doll!" Dem looked to Ross who nodded and scampered after her to the other women, feeling puffed up with pride. Dwight laughed, "We have a girl at the 'bird's nest'!" They laughed heartily. "Resurgam!" Ned hoisted his drink and they laughed like a drain as they made their toast. Having downed them, Ross went to get more. On the way, struggling through the room, greeting people as he passed, he caught the eye of George Warleggan who gave a nod in his direction. Ross nodded in turn. George was a guy Ross had known at school, and now on a mission to establish his record label to a higher profile. This guitarist brought all the creatures out from under their rocks thought Ross. He asked that more drinks be brought to their table and a Coca Cola be sent to Dem. He was annoyed when George chose to sit with them. "Well met, Ross! Happy Christmas!" "Happy Christmas, George. Dwight, Ned, this is George Warleggan." They nodded their greeting. Ross was momentarily relieved of his irritation with Warleggan when Dem raised her soda to them and looked happy to be fussed over by the glamorous women at the table around her. "Is that the girl you adopted?" Ross gave a snort of laughter. "In a manner of speaking..." Ross meant that he was not her guardian through legal adoption. George, knowing the the gossip about Ross and Dem in Cornwall, took it as a sly admission of Ross' debauchery of her. He grinned as if Ross had taken him into his confidence. "Are you back to Cornwall for Christmas?" Ross disliked this question. George was always a busybody. "We'll be back at New Years." George knew of Resurgam's success at EMI. He was always envious of Ross who had an ancient family name in Cornwall and didn't seem to give a damn about it. The Warleggans were seen as 'new money', an upstart family, trying to pass muster in a landscape of older families who turned their noses up at them. Ross brought out all of George's worst impulses. "I heard you lot played here!I heard it was well received!" Ned nodded. "Yeah! I heard Island Records turned you away with a flea in your ear when you offered to buy 'em out!" Dwight and Ross looked to Ned with amusement. That was cattier than Ned usually allowed himself with corporate types. George covered his annoyance with a pleasant smile. "We have patience. One day, they'll come running... compliments of the season." George got up and left, making a point of ignoring Ross and his rag tag, loser band sniggering at him as he left.

Resurgam recovered themselves from their mirth as they nodded a greeting to Eric Clapton. He came to their table to exchange season's greetings and Ross smiled to see Dem goggle eyed when Clapton said hello to the ladies. Dem knew Resurgam was on EMI but somehow didn't consider that they knew 'proper' rock stars. Her eyebrows raised more when Jeff Beck sat across from Ross. "Alright, mate?" Ross shook his hand across the table as did Dwight and Ned. "Have you seen this guy play?" asked Ross. "Naw. My bird said 'you need to see him, he's the best guitarist ever!' And, I'm like, 'Gee, thanks a lot!" They all had a good laugh. "You had a good set the other night..." said Beck. "Thanks!" said Dwight. Ross took a sip of his drink. "I expect he's good," Ross waved his hand about, "But anyone in here can play blues properly." He took another sip of his drink. "Even Dem can play blues." Beck gave a snort of a laugh. "You sayin' that kid can play guitar?" "Yes." said Ross, not seeing the challenge coming. Beck turned to look at Demelza, chatting happily at the 'bird's nest'. The women were happy to have a kid to entertain them. She might as well have been a living doll. He turned to Ross and laughed in a good natured way."Bollocks!" Ned smiled. "Oi! Ross ain't foolin'! Our Dem can play!" Beck looked to Dwight. Dwight, having been amused by the exchange said, "She's as good as anyone here." Dwight Enys told Jeff Beck, with a straight face, that the slip of a girl at the girlfriend table could play as well as some of the men who would become the most famous guitarists of the twentieth century. Ross folded his arms. Resurgam had thrown down the gauntlet. Beck looked to Ross' guitar case and smiled. "Prove it!" Ross' eyebrows raised and they all grinned. "You lot are sayin' Little Orphan Annie over there can play blues, I want to hear it!" They clinked their drinks and Dwight went to retrieve Dem from the ladies. After taking a bit of time to flirt with them, he said, "I have to claim Dem. Resurgam has had their honor challenged and only Dem can rectify it!" Demelza's eyes widened. She went back with Dwight and came face to face with Jeff Beck. "Alright, girl?" he said, warmly. She nodded her her, too star struck to speak. "Dem," said Ross, "Would you play some blues for us please?" Her voice went as high as Minnie Mouse. "Here?!" Ross' smile was warm and reassuring. "Yes, Dem. You can use my Fender." She looked at Ross and Ned and Dwight. She looked at Jeff Beck who looked at her fondly. "Come on, girl. Play us something. Ross says you're a natural!" She smiled. If they thought she could, then she could. But her nerves betrayed her. "Ais!" with a blush. She hadn't used her Illugan way of saying 'yes' for some time now. Ross turned to Beck. "Dem can play. You'll see." They made their way to the front and Ross plugged in his Fender after a brief chat with the club owner, to explain what was happening. Having an impromptu jam session was not an odd thing. Having a young girl flanked by Jeff Beck and Ross Poldark made it quite more interesting. The music over the speakers was turned off and Ross asked Beck if he wanted to jam first. Ross had no doubt Dem would do well but she was nervous and star struck and it would give her time to settle. Ross was a person who kept himself to himself, a quirk of his personality made more ingrained by his former heroin use. But he and his band were just as legitimate as all the big names. Ross had been a Mod at the same time as many of the musicians that became jaw droppingly famous. He was a known quantity among the patrons of Blaises. Playing with Jeff Beck did not phase him. They were peers as far as Ross was concerned. Beck retrieved his guitar and they traded lines through some old blues numbers. The crowd watched with interest and Dem watched with pride, as Ross had hoped, not to show off in front of her, but to put her at ease. She played with Ross the same way, all the time. If Ross could play with Jeff Beck, so could she. Playing the stage at Blaises was no different than playing at the parlor in Nampara. Ross was proving it so. They enjoyed playing together and Ross' smile was infectious. They finished to applause and they clapped each other's back and joked back and forth a bit. Then Ross asked Dem to come up and he placed his Fender on her, adjusting the strap. He pushed the microphone lower. Beck went back and sat with Ned and Dwight who beamed smiles at 'their Dem'. Ross bent down to speak into the mic, which was now too short for him. "Happy Christmas!" The room exploded with cheers and "Happy Christmas" yelled back to him. "May I present Miss Demelza Carne..." Ross jumped down and sat near to her on the edge of the stage. He smiled. Ned yelled "G'on, girl!" Someone else called out, "Oh yeah, 'cause she's got the blues!" There was laughter, good natured but laughter all the same. A young girl in a mini dress playing the blues. Dem crinkled her nose. 'Oh, really', she thought. She strummed so she could hear herself and the started playing Crossroad Blues as she had in the car when they drove to London. But the lyrics were not Robert Johnson's at all. Ross' mouth fell open and then shut back up as Dem played the blues, in Blaises club, in front of the rock demi monde of London.

I was born in Illugan  
Strap across my back  
I was born in Illugan  
Strap across my back  
I hitched a ride with my dog in a lorry  
And I never looked back

Within her first solo, she played long, sliding chords that they soon recognized as the sound cars would make speeding past a lorry. Claps and hoots started around the room. Dem was not mimicking a record. She was playing. She made her guitar sound like an angry truck driver, honking his horn and everyone laughed and started to cheer her more.

I went down to the crossroad  
Fell down on my knees  
I went down to the crossroad  
Fell down on my knees  
I asked the Lord above  
To save a wretch like me

Dem played the break of Crossroad Blues, in the middle of Blaises club, giving notice to all who saw her that she could play, having just as much experience studying the old blues records as any one of them and that she had come by her 'blues' honestly. More honestly perhaps than a bunch of pampered English boys playing blues by rote. Ross and Dem shared a private joke before she sang her ending. She in the midst of her second solo she made the guitar 'say' "I AM twelve!" Ross blinked with the recognition of it, he had challenged her age when they first met, and he laughed and started clapping which egged on the audience to clap and yell encouragement to her. She sang to finish,

God heard my pleadin'  
He heard what I said  
God heard my pleadin'  
He heard what I said  
For He took me from Illugan  
And sent me to the Valley Of Bread

She finished with the flourish of a standard blues ending and the room exploded with applause. Dem looked to Ross who looked as proud as any parent and shook hands with Jeff Beck, who played Little Red Rooster with her before she sat back down. Resurgam's honor was assured. The next twenty minutes was a surreal blur for Demelza as all the faces in Blaises came to Resurgam's table to congratulate Dem and wish her a merry Christmas. When Eric Clapton told her she played well, Dwight and Ned wondered if she might actually faint, but she did not. The Christmas fun continued as other guitarists played and caroused and waited for the American to arrive. By one in the morning, he entered the club.  
Ross ate his words. Jimi Hendrix was beyond anything the Blaises crowd had ever seen, ever heard and put London on notice that the British blues rule book was torn up and set on fire. There were points when everyone sat with their mouths agape. Dem felt like the entire world had changed. He was that good. It excited her. What struck fear in the other guitarists, even Ross was shocked at Hendrix's originality to the point Ross worried he was a pretender, made Dem beside herself with the glee of being given 'permission' to do what ever you wanted to with a guitar. Jimi Hendrix laid waste to them all. It was absolutely thrilling. When he finished, more jamming resumed. Hendrix was eager to play with Beck and Clapton. He knew of them and was happy to be in England and be able to meet them. As the night was late, Ross, Ned and Dwight looked amongst themselves and decided to head home. The American was all he was cracked up to be. They gathered up their things and Ross retrieved Demelza's coat and they made their way out. As they got closer to the stairs that led out they gave their goodbyes and Christmas greetings. Dem had smears of lipstick on her cheeks and forehead from so many of the ladies giving her a Christmas kiss and lauding her for giving the lads a run for their money. Ross turned on the staircase the see her hopping though the room towards them and his smile of satisfaction was a picture. She came nearer and, before she mounted the steps, they exchanged happy smiles. Ross turned in his long dark coat holding his Fender case and went up and out as Dem stamped up the steps in her little boots and disappeared into the night.

Dem and Garrick sat on the floor of the flat watching the Boxing Day transmission of Top Of The Pops. They would go back to Nampara tomorrow. Ross and Dem had a fun Christmas with Dwight and Ned and were still excited over Dem's triumph in Blaises and seeing Jimi Hendrix play. Ross lay across the sofa with a beer, feeling content. He looked forward to Resurgam's first tour of Europe and getting back in the studio to work on their second album. He wasn't given to wanting to be part of the crowd. Even when he was a Mod, he had a sense of detachment among the others around him. But the sensation he had of belonging this week cheered him. He was firm friends with Ned and Dwight, who stood by him even when he was wrecked on drugs, he held court in Blaises as much as anyone else in the room and watched Dem receive her due. Not just play and be applauded but have her heroes come by to tell her she'd done well. He felt so much pride in her and happiness for her as he sat back and watched. 'Valley of Bread'... Dem had asked Ross what 'Nampara' meant, early, when they first arrived. Her back hadn't altogether healed at that point. How many of them sang a common lyric like 'strap across my back' and thought they knew what they were singing? Being caned at school or given a hiding over bad behavior. How many guys could sing that and know what it meant, as Dem did, so cruelly treated by her father? She played her blues that night... He looked at her nodding her head in time to the pop music on TV with Garrick in her lap. A girl could do worse, being raised by a rock guitarist, thought Ross.

III. Little Wing

Garrick ran around the back of the house. There was a light coating of snow so his paw prints could be seen stamped into the ground. Letting off nervous energy from being in a car for so long. Dem pulled her suitcase from the boot as Ross brought the amp into the library. They could smell chicken broth and bacon, which made both of them hurry to finish unloading the car. Ross left the Fender cases in the hall and they went to the kitchen. Jud looked up from his newspaper. "Bad pennies return..." Prudie rolled her eyes at Jud. "Hush yer clack" She smiled at Ross and Dem from the stove. "Warm up, then, There be soup waitin'" Ross and Dem took places at the table and exhaled a satisfied sigh as they were each presented with a hot bowl of potato and leek soup and a warm, pillowy bap, toasted on the inside and filled to burst with fried bacon. They were happy to savor each bite and the mop their bowl with the last wanting edge. Home. Dem told Jud and Prudie all about their Christmas in London and Ross smiled to hear it retold. It had been a very merry Christmas. 

After Dem went to bed that night, Ross brought the Fenders back into the library. He went back to the parlor, intending to play his Gibson for a bit. He felt a drag at him though. Though it was late, acoustic guitar didn't suit his mood. Still recovering from having his brain wiped clean from seeing Jimi Hendrix, he went back to the library and put the amp at a low volume. He knew it was late but he wanted to play electric. He reached for his closest Fender and thought better of it. He pulled out the fifth case and came around to the desk where he opened the case on the floor and removed his first Strat. He plugged it in and sat at the desk. He worked to get it in tune. Once it was satisfactory, he sat back, resting his feet up on the desk and let himself become reacquainted with it. He lay his head back and strummed in an aimless way. He had not played this guitar for years and he was struck by how it did feel different from the others. This Strat had a ghost weight to it. An angel's portion. There was an extra shadow living within it, though he couldn't have known until now. He irritatedly rubbed his eyes. He'd cried too many tears for his mother. He should take a leaf from Dem's book. Take the time to remember the happiness of loving his mother. It was not part of his nature, but Ross could see that even an old dog could learn new tricks, if one tried hard enough...

Dem heard a faint, electric, rendition of 'Amazing Grace' coming through the floorboards. That wasn't a Christmas song, but it did sound Christmasy. Ross had been very happy in London. It was nice when he smiled and laughed. He wasn't gloomy all the time but he was rarely as lighthearted as he was while they were away. And Ross was a proper rock star! He spoke to people she had seen on TV like they were schoolmates. And they spoke to her too, like she was a proper guitarist! She snuggled under the covers, a little annoyed that her hot water bottle had gone cold. She pulled her knees to her chest and remembered how grand it felt to be at the table with all the women. They showered her with affection early in the night and treated her like a princess after she played guitar. They told her she played as good as a boy! She felt her cheeks go red and she smiled as she slept to the electric guitar whispering through the house. In 1966, being 'as good as a boy' was high praise indeed. Demelza smiled, and slept and dreamed her happy dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hazy Shade Of Winter, Simon and Garfunkel 1966
> 
> Crossroad Blues, Robert Johnson 1937
> 
> Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?, The Rolling Stones 1966
> 
> Burning Of The Midnight Lamp, Jimi Hendrix 1968
> 
> Little Wing, Jimi Hendrix 1967
> 
> Cottage pudding: A square of plain cake in dessert sauce. I grew up only having had it with lemon sauce but a search engine search has shown that any sweet dessert sauce can be cottage pudding.
> 
> Semolina: A milk pudding made with semolina wheat, sometimes with cinnamon sugar on top.
> 
> Spotted Dick: A steamed cake, speckled with dried fruit, usually currants.
> 
> "Hempel Common": A common is the area where students take their lunch/breaks. Ross is in hysterical laughter because Dem's blues song could also be seen as a reference to her working class background-joking that she is "common". Also, "dick" is American slang for male genitalia. Dem is singing about desserts at school and fantasy revenge on her school enemy. Her inclusion of Spotted Dick makes Ross laugh like a drain, having been to America and knowing the double meaning even if Dem does not.
> 
> Bap: a soft bread roll, a sandwich bun.
> 
> Jeff Beck saw Jimi Hendrix play at the club Blaises, named for the James Bond-esque girl spy Modesty Blaise. Having found December 22nd as a date for Hendrix having played there is the basis of the story, though I don't know if that was the night Beck was present. Nearly every famous guitarist in London heard the buzz and wanted to see him in clubs like Blaises and Bag O' Nails. Various Beatles were present at Bag O' Nails, but including real Beatles in this story might have made poor Dem faint.
> 
> I'd like to think that Hendrix, who had not met Ross or Dem, might have spared a thought for the young red headed girl with watercolor eyes shadowing a dark haired man in a long black coat in Blaises Club, when he started writing the songs for Axis Bold As Love, but I can't presume to know...
> 
> One does not have to know the songs that are chosen for the chapter and sub chapter titles in any of the 33 and 1/3 stories, but if you do not know the song "Little Wing" you should listen to it as it is very beautiful.


	8. Girl, You'll Be A woman Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe in the bosom of her family
> 
> April 1965

It was Friday afternoon. Dem had come home from school quite grumpy. She hung up her satchel and coat in the hall and gave Garrick an absent minded scratch of his ears and a brief cuddle. She washed her hands and splashed her face. She felt a bit run down but the water did not revive her. She went to the kitchen. "Alright?" asked Jud, his newspaper covering his face. "Yes." said Dem, glumly. She went into the larder, took a packet of chocolate digestives from the shelf over the cupboard that held extra dishes and sat at the table. "Ee want tea?" asked Prudie. "May I have milk please?" Prudie could hear some sort of unhappiness in her. "Aye. What be eatin' ye?" Dem sighed. "I'm just tired, is all..." Prudie poured Dem a glass of milk and was surprised to see she had already made a sizable dent in the biscuit packet. "Ee troubled, luv?" asked Prudie. Jud looked over his newspaper at Dem. "Ee'll turn yerself into a biscuit if ee keep on like tha!" Dem glowered. "I'm fine." Jud and Prudie let her be. She drank down her milk. "I think I'll lie down..." Dem wandered out. Not long after Dem left, Ross wandered in. He went into the larder and could be heard rummaging around the pantry shelf. "Prudie? Didn't we have chocolate digestives?" Prudie called back, "Dem ate 'em." Ross came out of the larder and sat down with a little pout. "What, all of them?" "Aye, we got ginger nuts..." Ross grumbled. "It's hard to make oneself want ginger nuts when you wanted digestives. Why did you let her eat them all?" Prudie shrugged. "She just mowed 'em down! I barely 'ad 'er milk in the glass afore she downed 'alf the packet..." She poured Ross a cup of tea and set it by him with a small plate of two ginger nuts alongside. 

The kitchen had a green tinge in the air, but Dem didn't think much of it as she sat with the packet of chocolate digestives and started to eat them. "Alright?" asked Jud behind his newspaper. "Ais." said Dem. It was not Prudie at the stove. "Ais, Demi. "Ave your biscuits, Duckie..." Mummy? Dem struggled to understand how Mum could be at Nampara. "Mummy!" She turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. Pa had split her lip, but it had healed nice...Ais, duck?" Dem could not stand, could not get out of her seat. She hadn't hugged her mother in years. Why can't she stand up? "Mummy, I can't walk!" Mum smiled lovingly at Dem. "Don't take on so, Demi. Eat your biscuit." Dem bit into the cookie and gasped as it started to bleed. She dropped it and it skittered across the table. She stared at the the specks of blood on the table. Suddenly, the man behind the newspaper was not Jud. It was Pa. "Are ee saved?" he hissed over his newspaper. Dem started whimpering. Why can't she stand up? "Mummy!" Dem started to cry. "Aw, Duckie, I be fine..." Her mother turned back from the stove. "See?" Mum grinned but her lip was split afresh and there was blood marking out her teeth as she spoke. "A little blood never hurt no one..."  
Dem struggled to wake. She felt sweaty and panicky. She had not dreamt of either of her parents for some time. She had nightmares when she first came to Nampara, but they went away after a few weeks. Dem woke and started to cry. She never managed to dream of her mum without her being injured in some way. She was always as she remembered her in life, in the cuddles and caring, in the close view of a small child-bruises, cuts, blood hastily wiped up... Dem sat up and felt strange. Sweaty and strange, stuck to herself. She turned on the lamp next to her bed, wiped her eyes and then bit off a shriek of surprise.

They heard Dem call from the stairs. "Prudie!" They all looked to the kitchen doorway. "Aye?" Nothing. Prudie's eyes narrowed. Jud spoke behind his newspaper once more. "Mayhap she be sickening for som'ing..." Ross grumbled. "I expect she would feel sick if she ate all the biscuits!" and he stared with a little frown at the two ginger nuts, blameless and awaiting a dunk in hot tea. "I be comin'!" She came to the foot of the stairs and saw Dem at the top of the stairs. "What's to do?" asked Prudie as she mounted the stairs. Dem was out of her uniform in a plain blue dress, her legs bare and the toes of one foot curled over the landing step. Her hair was rumpled from having a lie down and Prudie only just registered the unhappy look of embarrassment on Dem's face as she withdrew her foot and scurried back to her room. Prudie followed Dem into her room and Dem turned to her with a watery eyed pout. Prudie's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Aw, pet... Never ee mind 'bout tha. A bit o cold water an ee'd never knowed it be there..."

They made up the bed with clean sheets. Prudie contrived temporary aid with a clean washcloth and spirited away the stained items into the laundry sink to soak. She helped Dem into her nightgown and gave her a warm, reassuring hug. Dem sniffled a little. Prudie meaning it in lightheartedness said, "Aw, don't take on so, maid. Ee be a young leddy now! A little blood ain't gonna hurt ee..." That sounded enough like what Mum had said in Dem's dream that she cried in earnest. Prudie blinked with surprise. "Aw... thur, thur lamb..." Prudie gave her a protective squeeze and stroked her hair. "Did ee 'ave a bad dream an' all?" Prudie felt Dem nodding 'yes' against her. Dem buried her face in the bib of Prudie's apron and Prudie rested her hand on the back of Dem's head. "Aw, poor ol' lamb...you's alright, Dem, ee be safe at home, luv...them dreams can't touch ee now yer awake, eh?" Dem nodded against Prudie's bosom and calmed down by degrees. She was safe at home. Prudie's apron smelled faintly of sugar and her mumsy scents of Pears soap and cozy kitchens curled around her, as much of a comfort as her arms. Prudie stepped back and bade Dem to lay down. She tucked her sheets around her and kissed her forehead since the poor mite ain't got no mothur... "Ee lay down now. I'll pop out to the shops and see you kitted out proper. What do ee want fer supper?" "Pie?" asked Dem quietly. "Aye, maid. We gots some beef stew that'll do fer pie, alright?" Dem nodded. "Ee rest up, I won't be long."

Prudie was heard coming back down the steps and put her head round the kitchen door. "I'm takin' the car to the shops. Won't be long..." Jud frowned. "What be wrong wi' Dem?" "She be havin' a lie down." Ross and Jud exchanged baffled looks and resigned themselves to getting a proper explanation when Prudie returned.  
Prudie had things well in hand. She returned to Nampara with all that was necessary. Prudie chuckled over the size of the belt. 'Dem be slim as a pencil!' she thought. She would have to impress upon Ross that Dem be given a bit more pocket money. Men do be daft about them sort of things and Ross only lived among men, really...She left a bag in the kitchen that held chocolate digestives, black currant squash and some more butter and then went back upstairs to Dem.

Ross and Jud returned to the kitchen. Ordinarily, the Paynters would have left for the day, but Prudie's late shop and her suggestion that they might as well all sup together meant there was time to sit once more. Jud shared out the sport section with Ross and they both sat with their faces obscured. "Is Dem still sleeping?" asked Ross. "Aye." Prudie was making pastry crust for a very substantial beef pie. "Is she unwell?" said Ross. Prudie felt it would be better to inform Ross while Dem was still upstairs. "Naw, leastways she ain't sick. She be havin' 'er monthly." Ross didn't parse this right away. "Having her month...Oh!" Jud's eyebrows went up as he and Ross exchanged embarrassed looks over their papers. Jud put his paper down with a snort. "Ee'd do well to clean and load them ol' duelin' pistols! There'll be many a lad makin' eyes at our Dem!" Prudie laughed with Jud as she wiped her hands on a tea towel and began to assemble the pie. Ross blanched and looked discomfited. This was not something he'd considered in his guardianship of Dem, that she would, at some point, cease to be a kid...but, in for a penny, in for a pound...Ross cleared his throat. "I take it you got the things she needs?" Prudie set the pie in the oven. "Aye. But ee need give 'er a bit more lolly fer 'er bits an' pieces." Ross blushed a little. "Erm, yes. I'll see to that."

Prudie gave a brief knock before she entered. The sheets and clothes were laundered, a golden brown beef pie, just the thing to bolster a maid, awaited with mashed potatoes and green peas. She put her head round the door to tell Dem it was time to eat. The room was dark but the light from the hall shone on Dem's face. She blinked at Prudie under an unruly mass of curls, tucked up to her nose under her bedclothes. The transistor radio on the bedside table was playing some sort of that blathering rock music that Ross and Dem played all the time, not like the old jazz bands, now that were music..."Come along, Dem. It be time t'eat!" Ee alright luv?" Dem nodded and the hall light made small glints in her eyes. "Yes, Prudie." Dem removed the sheets from over her mouth. "Thank you, Prudie." Prudie smiled. "Yer welcome."

Not unlike other times the Paynters stayed for dinner, Jud grunted hello over his newspaper, Ross asked her about her day at school and let her know of his comings and goings. Resurgam would tour soon. Prudie gave them each a heaping plate of hot food and gave a self satisfied sigh, for she did enjoy a nice pie of an evening. Dem felt that things hadn't changed overmuch even though she was now a Young Lady. She was grateful it hadn't happened at school. More than one girl spirited themselves to the infirmary in aid of these situations and EVERYBODY always knew... "Dem?" 'Oh! Ross had said something!' "Sorry?" she said, faintly embarrassed to have been deep in thought enough to not hear. Ross smiled. Dem had demolished a fair bit of the beef pie. She must be having a growth spurt as well as, well, you know... "How is the play coming along?" Dem wrinkled her nose. "I don't rightly know. I try to take it serious, but some of the other girls might as well be robots on Dr. Who!" Ross laughed. The Hempel rendition of Hamlet should be amusing entertainment in any case, be they robotic or not. "I'm sure it will all work out." said Ross, smiling. The Paynters bid them goodbye. They were off for the weekend. Ross went into the parlor to play his acoustic guitar. Dem sat in the hall with Garrick and cuddled and fussed over him, making up for not having their after school play about. He trotted alongside her as she entered the parlor and curled up by the hearth as she retrieved the maple Gibson. She sat on the right hand pew. Ross smiled. "Hello, Dem. What's it to be?" She thought for a bit. He took the time to be charmed by her. She still lopped about with a hop in her walk, still coltish, still a kid. One could see she would grow into elegance but, for now, for all she had attained a claim at womanhood, she was still Dem. Thank goodness. "We haven't played Dowland in a while..." Ross nodded as she rummaged in one of the hymnal slots in the pew for the sheet music for Lachrimae. Ross set it flat so they could both follow it-though he knew it already-and helped Dem with occasional, gentle correction, as the night drew in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girl, You'll be A Woman Soon, Neil Diamond 1967
> 
> lolly: money


	9. Family Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This above all: to thine own self be true,  
And it must follow, as the night the day,  
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”  
(Polonius, act 1 scene 3)
> 
> The Hempel School for Girls Spring Play, Hamlet  
May 1965

Jud escorted Prudie to Nampara in his best sport coat, a fawn colored, herringbone weave, and second best pocket square. Prudie wore a silk crepe floral dress in pink and green tones, her mother's string of pearls and 'gold' clip earrings, shaped like a flower with a cluster of purple diamantes in the center. Ross opened the door, about to compliment the Paynters on how nice they looked and then recoiled with widened eyes of horror as Prudie lashed in to him in a voice that could curdle milk.  
"ROSSVENNORPOLDARK! Ee march yerself right upstairs an' dress proper!"  
He recovered himself and frowned. He took stock of himself. His newest black denim jeans, not at all faded, his boots were polished and he had a perfectly clean linen shirt. "What's wrong with my clothes?" asked Ross. "Wha be right wi' 'em?" Prudie was scandalized. "Why'd ee bother sendin' the gurl to that school if ee ain't gonna show up lookin' respectable! She be Ophelia an' all!" Ross looked to Jud who had his chin ducked and his mouth bitten down so he wouldn't laugh and then looked at Prudie who crossed her arms. "Ee can't be wearin' dungarees to Dem's play!" And she stared him down with a steely gaze for it was clear to her that Ross' clothes should shame their Dem. Ross rolled his eyes. "It's a school play, not the Globe Theatre!" Ross groused as he turned to go back upstairs and put on the sort of clothes Prudie would countenance.  
They made their way, among the other, well heeled, Hempel families through the school corridors to the auditorium. Jud squired Prudie on his arm and Ross brought up the rear. He was now attired in black laced shoes, dark blue trousers with a sharp crease on each pant leg, a white oxford shirt and a peacock blue cashmere sweater, v necked, that was a present from Verity that Ross often employed in situations like this-needing the camouflage of a gentry gentleman. He put his foot down with Prudie over wearing a tie, it was not necessary. It was a school play for pity's sake...In any event, Ross' long hair would mark him out as a renegade however conventional the clothes he wore.

Ross, Jud and Prudie found seats close to the front. If Dem was an unconventional Hempel Girl, with her working class, Illugan background, Ross and the Paynters were also betwixt and between as her 'family'. Ross, 23, a Poldark, one of the oldest and distinguished families in the district, with an unassailable claim to being gentry, was a rock guitarist from the black sheep side of the family. Many of the parents in attendance were nearer to his late father's age and some of the older siblings of these school girls were Ross' peers. Many would also have considered it improper to bring servants to a school function. That Jud and Prudie's role at Nampara extended to being occasional surrogate parents to both Ross and Dem, to the point where Prudie could tell Ross off over his clothes and he obey, marked all four of them as quite eccentric indeed. As they waited for the play to begin, Ross bore the interested glances and whispering of others around them with quiet dignity. Ross had grown up hearing the whispered comments of others his whole life in this gossip choked county. He'd grown up having learned that people talk, people murmur all manner of comment and judgement and take enjoyment in it. It wasn't worth expending energy over it. People talk if your mother is a beauty. People talk if your little brother is cute as a button. People talk if your little brother dies. People talk if your saintly mother dies. People talk if your father makes a spectacle of himself and gossips scrutinize for any hint that you might feel shame. Ross never gave anyone that satisfaction. He simply squashed it all, further down, in to himself, until he turned to heroin in his need to keep it bolted down inside where his darkness would stay safely hidden away...Now that he was clean, the gossip of others irritated him but he was better equipped to ignore it. He would not give strangers the power to make him cannibalize himself anymore...The program was a folded sheet of paper with an imposing castle, taken from some book or an other, on the front and the cast's names printed in elegant font with a thank you to the drama teacher and a list of the students that painted the scenery inside. Prudie put hers in her handbag and, after some whispered consultation, Ross gave her his to keep so it would not become crinkled.  
The bustle backstage could, occasionally be heard behind the curtain. There were the whispers of so many girls, scrunching their eyes shut, trying to remember their lines, fidgeting in their costumes and, of course, gossiping when the headmistress and other teachers had their attention elsewhere. "Gosh! Ross Poldark looks so handsome!" sighed one girl. "Are they Dem's grandparents?" asked another. "They must be," said Ruth, "They look as common as she does!"  
Dem, elsewhere and quietly trying to think herself into Ophelia, had peeked earlier and waved to Ross and the Paynters. Ross, Jud and Prudie caught sight of her and they smiled and waved back. She held it like a good luck charm. She smiled to see them among the other parents. They stood out even if they hadn't been near the front and she was proud that they had come to watch her.  
The headmistress came out to polite applause with the drama teacher. They thanked the audience for coming to see the fruits of so many serious hours of preparation for Hempel's abridged version of Hamlet. The drama teacher disappeared behind the curtain as the headmistress bade the assembled guests to enjoy the talents of their young ladies.

"I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,  
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,  
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,  
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;  
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,  
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,  
And recks not his own rede."

It was not Ross' imagination. Ross felt the critical eye of many in the audience as Dem's Ophelia spoke the word 'libertine'. A seasick realization came over him. He may well be sitting among MANY of his late father's conquests among all these elegant Hempel mothers. Also, the gossip over the idea he was sleeping with Dem had not dissipated. He tilted his chin up a fraction. He had nothing to be ashamed of. 'I'm watching my ward play Ophelia,' thought Ross. 'If you had it off with Papa, that's your own affair and as for the rest, let them talk till their tongues dropped out...'

The drama instructor at Hempel did have a flair for the dramatic, so she had designed Queen Gertrude's recounting of Ophelia's demise as a tableau. An old rowboat that had been wrecked, who knows when, on the beach had been placed in the middle of the stage so Demelza could lay in it, looking suitably deceased, surrounded by artificial flowers-some store bought, most made by students as an arts project. This was lit at the front of the stage by three, old storm lamps. The flickering light lent a ghostly look and was quite fetching. Queen Gertrude stood in her queenly robe and crown at the left of the stage and, in a reedy voice, recited Ophelia's sad end as Dem lay still in a white cotton nightgown, much like Millais' painting, to good effect. As the curtain closed so they could pull the boat away and resume Hamlet's tragic tale, Prudie sniffed into her handkerchief. Dem looked like a proper actress, layin' there all drowned like...Jud patted her hand. The play was as one should have expected from a bunch of school kiddies, but Dem was a rare talent, to be sure...Ross bit down on a laugh for the seriousness in Dem's bid to look dead was charming and he recalled that, once, when she practiced at home, in the parlor, Garrick jumped on her and broke the illusion as Dem gave him a laughing scold and hugged her dog. She was serious about learning her lines and did a wonderful job. Among the Hempel parents, Ross could claim pride in the young lady in his charge.  
When, at last, they bid the sweet prince goodnight, the audience clapped with the same polite good taste as when it began, punctuated by Prudie's enthusiastic applause. The actresses took their bows. Ross smiled and gave a little nod to Dem whose sparkle eyed cheerfulness made him smile in a way that made him look younger. It was debated by many of the Hempel student body whether Ross Poldark's nod was wicked proof that he and Dem were having relations, for some days after. They'd not formed firm conclusions, but it was remarked upon that Dem Carne was a lucky so and so either way and she had been an enchanting Ophelia...

Since both Ross and Jud knew that the room around them was lousy with Joshua Poldark's entanglements, they declined the refreshments Hempel offered afterwards and returned to Nampara. Dem talked a mile a minute to Prudie about the play and who fluffed their lines and who lost this prop or that piece of costume as Ross smiled to hear it as well as Jud's interjections as he drove them all home. Ross watched through the car window as the familiar sight of Nampara came into view. People talked of the Nampara Poldarks as long as Ross could remember-Grace, Mama, a beauty. Claude, his brother, who had the same spark of mischief that shone in Ross eyes, occasionally. Joshua, Papa, who, single handedly, put the entire county into fits over his scandalous pastimes as a widower. And Ross. What would one make of him and his little household? The whole county knew of his dashed hopes with Elizabeth Chynoweth and her marriage to his cousin, Francis. The whole county knew of his father's exploits. Those things were true. The county's opinions of Ross and Dem were patently false, but, one must make the best of it. Ross had been a Mod with bad habits and was a guitarist with a narcotic past but he tried his best to walk a straight path now. Ross could be Dem's friend and teach her guitar and live happily at Nampara with Dem looking after Garrick, Ross looking after her and Jud and Prudie looking after both of them while allowing Ross the nicety of believing he was in charge. He knew he was honorable and looked after her the best he could. the gossips could all go hang...

They bustled into the kitchen. Ross filled the kettle for the larger teapot. Prudie produced a plate of fairy cakes she'd baked that morning. Dem pranced around outside with Garrick, briefly, to make up for staying after school all afternoon and came to the kitchen table bright eyed and chatty and quite pleased with how the play had turned out. Many of the other girls at school had complimented her on her performance and Ruth had made no attempt to antagonize her for a change. Ross sat back in his chair. He took a bite of cake and a long drought of hot tea and was content. Dem laughed as Jud bickered and teased her about Shakespeare, Prudie drank her tea with elegant grace, her ear clips glittering on the table next to her saucer, and looking as proud as any mum would. It was a good night for the Nampara Poldarks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family Affair, Sly And The Family Stone 1971


	10. Danke Shoen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future's not ours to see  
Gratitude  
May 1967

I. If 6 Were 9

Dwight: "This is Dwight Enys!"  
Ned: "This is Ned Despard!"  
Ross: "This is Ross Poldark!"  
In unison: "We are Resurgam!"  
Ross: And you're listening to The Saturday Show on Radio Bremen!"

"Excellent" said the engineer, "Danke!" He was satisfied with Resurgam's "bumper", the recorded message that would play before their set.

Touring other countries was a new experience for Ross, Dwight and Ned. Their time was not their own, for they were scheduled within an inch of their lives-playing here, interviews there, on to the next show, Quick! Quick!- but there was a bit of down time in Germany. There was a day between their radio performance and taping Beat Club, for television. They knocked about, checking out what nightlife there was in a town that had gotten a pasting in World War II but still retained its medieval quality only a little worse for wear. They were hungover, but not to a sloppy degree. The radio set went well. They had the rest of the day to do as they pleased. They agreed to meet up at seven to find dinner together and went their separate ways. Ross was happy to have time on his own. He was still reorganizing his relationship to the world around him in the three years since he gave up heroin. He still was struck by the the differences. He'd spent so much time hopped up on speed or wrapped in an opiate haze that approaching an ordinary day in an unaltered state was still a pleasant adventure. He sat at the counter of a coffee bar, watching people coming and going through the window beyond, dimly aware he had not utilized the French letters on his person, but not troubled by it. There was more to life than chasing girls around. Ross still marveled at how life had improved. There were more hours in a day when you weren't nodding out through half of it. There was a clarity to his thinking he hadn't known he'd missed. Resurgam was touring. Dwight had let slip that they might have disbanded after the record was finished if Ross had not kicked. Dwight and Ned had no expectation of continuing, really. Ross had become that unreliable... Ross had a horror of thinking. If he had to pick one reason over all. Thinking was troublesome. Thinking meant remembering. Thinking meant being trapped in the prison of his own regrets and culpability, things he would rather not consider. Life, these days, was so busy-purpose in it, Ross did not feel the need or desire to shut down. Things were working properly in his life these days... The coffee in Germany was delicious. He took another sip as Ross watched all the work a day people as they walked where they were bound. In every country, Britain included, the bowler hatted businessmen in the street looked askance at Ross. They were offended by his long hair and look of self assured confidence. He made them sneer. They could see that they were normal and he was not, he surmised. Ross had no time for people like that. He was Ross Vennor Poldark and he had the strange pride of knowing himself to be worthy, even if he was set apart, even when he had been straggling around on smack, he felt himself to be superior, almost as a form of self protection. Those businessmen were "normal" and he was not. It was an impossibility to even feign normalcy. It was beyond him. His cousins, Francis and Verity, were wonderfully normal. Ross found it a mystery, a puzzle. Even as children, when his parents were happy and life had not punished them yet, Ross never felt that the uncomplicated ordinariness of life was something he could achieve. Ross always felt "other"-neither flesh nor fish- As the Nampara Poldarks slid into a great deal of tragedy, it became obvious he and his father were abnormal. Ross cringed, sometimes, remembering lurid scenes of anger and jealousy as men who felt wronged by Joshua-having it off with their wives or daughters-would come to the house and find Ross and Jud rather than his father. They'd pitch a fit, haranguing and carrying on in their frustration before finally admitting defeat and left. Joshua, nine times out of ten, had moved on to someone else by the time a husband or father found out and came, baying for blood...Ross finished his coffee and enjoyed the sensation of strolling through some sort of fairy tale. There were cobbled streets and picturesque buildings that were so different to London. One expected to turn a corner and find animals who could talk and enchanted cooking pots. He found a postcard to send to Dem and the Paynters. In his mind he thought 'home'. A card to send home...A photo of the statue of Roland. A sightseeing card. Ross was excited to bring his music farther afield but did find that he missed life at Nampara more than he thought he would.

II. Que Sera Sera

"Lord above! Ee stirred it too long!"  
Dem, Jinny and Cressida looked, forlorn, at Prudie holding the wooden spoon by its handle-bringing the entire pot of fudge up with it. The candy had seized to the point she could waggle the pot upside down and it stayed firm in place. "Oh...There goes our fudge..." said Dem, sadly. They had wanted it for when Top of the Pops came on. "Aw...fudge be a finicky thing t'get right, sometimes..." cooed Prudie. They poked at it with a butter knife and had to admit defeat. It might have been made from cement. Crestfallen, the girls returned to the lounge where they resumed leafing through magazines and talking of this and that.  
Many parents had no issue with extending invitations to Dem for parties, as one would to any school classmate, but having it known that their school age daughter had set foot in Nampara was not to be risked. Even if the gossip was false (and parents were genuinely split on the issue-Joshua Poldark's reputation cast a long shadow) it was something the community sought to avoid. When Ross was away for extended periods of time with Resurgam, Dem spent her weekends with the Paynters. This was seen as neutral ground. Girls were free to call on the Paynters and visit Dem there. Dem was at a remove from the other girls, gentry and working class alike, because of her odd situation as Ross' ward. She did like company though and the Paynters were happy to host homework sessions with the gentry girls and the silly fawning and dreaming over magazines and sweets with girls, gentry and local from Sawle alike. Jud sat in the parlor, grousing and grumbling over " havin' a bloomin' hen party wi' tha blatherin' music..." in the lounge. In truth, Jud was pleased. Dem would play guitar and piano and records for hours and hours at Nampara. This strengthened her talent-considerably-but it weren't fitty for the girl to be so lonesome. She had a stronger friend in her dog, Garrick, than any human. Dem deserved the same right to friends as any girl. Ross didn't do wrong in their life, for all the gossip over them... In this arrangement, Jud and Prudie were allowed the novelty of raising a kid. This was not something discussed between them but heartily enjoyed by both.

III. Beat Club Opening Theme

"Heute haben en wir auf Beat Club auftritte von, The Snappers, The Who, Whistling Jack Smith, Resurgam, Julie Felix, The Escorts, The Lee Curtis All Stars und dem Beat Club Go Go Girls!"

Ross, Ned and Dwight stood facing the cameras and the studio audience of young teenage and college age kids under a cardboard placard with 'RESURGAM' in bold, black letters. The need to stand as still as wax dummies but remain pleasant looking for the cameras was a strain on them all. On TV it looked normal but, within the studio set, it had the effect of being like animals being examined by a school excursion at a zoo. Having had the opening filmed, Resurgam waited for their turn to play. The bands were all well received and they were grateful to have a slot on the program. Beat Club's footage went far and wide to many different countries. Their partnership with Britain's Top of the Pops meant that Germans could see acts filmed in England and Beat Club's footage, shot in Germany, often made its way back to England on other programs.  
They played "A Kingly Load", a real rave up of a jam, with no lyrics, that Ned named "Sugar Candy and Napoleon Brandy" at the last minute as it was a song they often fooled around with when they would warm up but had no title. They finished up with "Six of One, Half a Dozen of the Other". The only stagecraft they indulged in was a bit of mugging at the cameras when they came in close and Ross starring down various girls in the audience as he played, sang and flicked his hair out of his eye. This was a game he often played for he did not have to keep his eyes on his fretboard for long stretches of the songs. The women in his gaze would often blush and, having succeeded in this, he'd move on to another. This made all the audience pay attention, even if there was dancing. The girls slavering with enraptured attention, hoping they might be the next challenger. The guys were struck by his manner, taking notes as it were. Ross had a striking command of his guitar while looking imposing and attractive. Ned would concentrate on playing while looking relaxed and friendly. Ned did not flirt on stage. Ned preferred to hone in on a girl that caught his eye afterwards and charm her with compliments and his gift of gab. Dwight, not to be outdone, simply played with a smile as they all interacted on stage through their set. Dwight did not have the dangerous glamour of Ross but his smile and the twinkle in his eye ensnared many a girl with just as much success.

IV. Que Sera Sera

The Paynter's modest house was small enough that the whirring of an eggbeater could be heard, faintly in the lounge. They had a nice dinner of chicken and leek pie, set in a large baking dish, for company. Jud plumped for fizzy lemonade rather than ordinary for a treat. They talked of many things. They told the Paynters of the walk they had taken earlier, through Sawle for magazines and then meandering through the farming areas and the woods beyond. Jinny was often interested in the differences between their schools. Dem and Cressida would talk of poetry and maths in ways that made Jinny cross eyed at the thought of having to answer to. Cressida was a nice girl. ( 'not stuck up at all', thought Jinny) Cressida was fascinated by the Paynters and Dem's cozy, dollhouse of a life with them. Her mother refused to have Dem set foot in her house and forbade Cressida from ever setting foot in Nampara. She did allow visits to Sawle, though. It was not seemly to look too disapproving. They were problematic but Ross was still a Poldark, to some degree. He was the nephew of Charles and cousin to Francis and the Trenwith Poldarks were one of the most important families in the county. Cressida was unaware that her aunt had known Joshua Poldark, in the biblical sense, and her mother's attitude towards the Nampara Poldarks was based on this fact.  
Jud and Prudie presided over the table doting on their guests and enjoying a Saturday that was quite ordinary but very pleasant. They returned to the lounge. After Top of the Pops, Jinny and Cressida would return home. At first disappointed that they were bereft of their fudge, the girls were surprised and delighted when Prudie presented each of them with a small bowl of thickly whipped cream in which little chunks of the ruined fudge were enfolded. Prudie, with the help of an ice pick, had turned the hardened fudge into little pebbles that softened in the moisture of the cream, giving it a flavor close to the most heavenly sort of ice cream. With profuse thanks and compliments on Prudie's genius, the girls tucked in with the spoons plunked into the center of each bowl and watched Top of the Pops. Jud and Prudie would occasionally tut tut and tsk at the various acts, the pop music of the day being so different to the hit parade they enjoyed in their youth. The girls bore it with humor and good grace. Cressida was reminded of her first nurse in Prudie and Jinny found the Paynters to be quite like her own grandparents. Dem had no comparison to make among her own relatives, the Carnes. Dem sat in the satisfaction of having the Paynters in her life as they were, strict and grumpy in some ways, laughing and indulgent in others...  
Having waved Jinny goodbye, since she could walk home, Dem and Cressida sat on the Paynters front step, spoiling Garrick with attention and waiting for the car that would bring Cressida home. They were glad for the reprieve of the Paynter's house. Dem was very nice and it was a feather in one's cap to say you'd been to see her in Sawle. A little of Dem's glamour rubbed off on you if you did.

"Thank you, Prudie! That cream was wonderful! How did you know to do that?!"  
"Yer welcome, maid. I d'have a few tricks up m'sleeve!"

Cressida went home. Dem and the Paynters spent a bit of time in the parlor as Dem read her magazines and music papers, Prudie worked at her knitting and Jud perused his newspaper. Prudie smiled at Dem over her knitting. She was fifteen, a proper young lady now, but still retained the look of the 'darling young' still her gruffler. Still crazy for her guitar and music and Garrick. Prudie slipped a stitch and worked to correct it. Dem wasn't boy crazy yet, thank goodness. Let her stay young a while yet...schooling was on the wane. She be a proper Hempel lady. Dem had grown up, but let her stay young...it weren't her fault so much of her childhood had been stolen by her pa...  
Later, as she crossed over into sleep in the Paynter's extra bedroom, Dem considered her day. Dem was happy to feel like an ordinary girl today. She never quite felt she was normal somehow. The twin issues of her physical abuse at the hands of her father and the gossip that plagued her and Ross in their Nampara life kept her off balance to others. She no longer felt less than the people around her. Ross and the Paynters and Dwight and Ned helped her to shed those feelings. Feeling "normal" eluded her. She was happy with the random chance that brought her to Nampara. Dem wasn't convinced she was missing much, not having a "proper" family like Jinny's or Cressida's. If her own family life was poisoned by her father's abuse, fate handed her a very good substitute. She had music and Garrick, she had Jud and Prudie, she had Ross who would return from Europe soon. They would catch up on each other's news and practice guitar of an evening and live in their eccentric arrangement, so scorned and scowled upon by others and so lovely if you knew what it felt like on the inside...

V. Turn! Turn! Turn!

Medieval Bremen was not a hotbed of nightlife compared to other German cities but, where rock performers dwell, there was fun to be had. Resurgam was bound for Belgium but this night they drank and caroused with The Who and Ross found reason to avail himself of a French letter or two in the company of a stunningly beautiful German girl with flashing dark eyes and the sort of long, fringed hair that girls often lay on an ironing board, compelling a trusted friend to press with a clothes iron, to get it to lay as flat as possible. It was a marvelous veil to play with. Ross let strands of it fall through his fingers as he whispered "Danke, shoen..." to her as dawn's light crept into her room. They would be back in England soon. The tour was a success and they would start up in the studio to work on the second album. Things were going well. Ross found that approaching life with no substances to buffer or obliterate the edges was a good thing. A lesson he was in need of. He had music and the friendship of his band, he had the camaraderie that comes from being a gigging musician in the company of other musicians. He had occasional pleasure in the arms of strangers. He had the happiness of returning home. He'd bring Dem to London with him. She'd be finished with school and could enjoy the city as they worked on the second album. Let the Paynters have a respite and let Dem enjoy the capital. She'd have Garrick with her too. Garrick had grown large, perhaps a little too large for a city dog, but there were good parks about so he would get his exercise...  
When Ross returned to Nampara he restored his Fenders with their brethren in the library and made his way to the kitchen. Dem and the Paynters would return Monday and life would fall back into its pleasant pattern. He smiled to see his Rolandstaneeld card pinned, back to front, on the corkboard by the phone so it read: "Bremen is quaint and we played well for a radio show today. The coffee tastes wonderful but I'll be glad to get back home and have proper tea. Give Garrick a good old wack from me-Ross"  
Cheered by the idea that a little piece of his adventure had become a part of Nampara too, he made his longed for cup of tea and sat in the silent kitchen. He wondered what his father would have made of it all. He'd not had the highest opinion of rock music, though he appreciated Ross' passion for his guitars. Ross made a point of working on classical pieces on his acoustic guitar. What began as a guilt gift to his father-ending the night on music he would approve of and enjoy-served him well in his rock performance for the skills he honed on his acoustic were brought over to his electric Fenders very easily. It also made him a very successful guitar teacher to Dem for she garnered the same skills and was as enriched by them as he had been.  
What sport he'd managed on tour would hold him for a while. Ross did not mind a drought, so to speak. It seemed to him sometimes that if pleasure lay in the unsubtle sport that groupies afforded, then he had not quite the normal appetites of a normal man. 'Forever abnormal...' thought Ross, but in acceptance of it. If it was his fate to be different from others there was an odd satisfaction in it too. He had music to make and a young friend to look after. He had the comfort in Prudie's cooking (and Dem's. Dem was becoming a very good cook under Prudie's tutorage) He had Jud's steady hand on Nampara's tiller, keeping the place well run. It was a happy home for them all. Women would come and go. There was a self reliance to be had in these periods of celibacy. Ross would not fret over them. He had other interests and concerns day to day. 'Everything in its season...' thought Ross as he sipped his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danke Shoen, Wayne Newton 1963
> 
> If 6 Were 9, Jimi Hendrix 1967
> 
> Que Sera Sera, Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band 1966
> 
> Beat Club Opening Theme  
There were multiple openings for Beat Club, forerunner of the program Musikladen. The one I intend is black and white footage of two go go dancers superimposed over a lit up pinball game and women's voices singing a gleeful, high pitched scat over a "wall of sound" instrumentation :  
Dodo Dodo Dodo  
da dada DA DA DA!  
Dodo Dodo Dodo  
da dada DA DA DA!  
Waouh Waouh Waouh Waouh Waouh Waouh!  
ahh AHH! ahh AHH! ahh AHH!  
I promise the above is not gibberish!
> 
> Que Sera Sera, Doris Day 1953
> 
> Turn! Turn! Turn!(To Everything There Is a Season), The Byrds 1965
> 
> gotten a pasting: bombed in the war
> 
> French letters: condoms
> 
> in the biblical sense: Cressida's aunt had sex with Ross' dad


	11. Penny Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend starts here  
November 1965

The sound of Dem practicing her piano scales could be heard through the house. Mrs. Kemp left about a half an hour ago and Dem liked to jump into practice while she still had the lessons fresh in her head. Ross stuck his head round the library door. "We're going to Truro. Are you coming?" Dem stopped her fingers where they were on the piano keys. "Can we bring Garrick? I didn't walk him yet..." "Yes, That's alright. Ten minutes?" She scooted off the piano bench. "Yes!" chirped Dem. Ross went into the parlor where Ned and Dwight were waiting. "Change of plan, we're five now..." Ned frowned briefly before it dawned on him what Ross meant. "Aw, Gordon Bennet! You mean Garrick an' all?!" Ross grinned, shrugged. "He needs the exercise..." Ned shuddered. "Strewth! What he needs is some mouthwash!" Dwight bent double laughing. "Never fear, Ned. Sit by me in the front! Ross and Dem can mind the prisoner in the back seat!" Ned looked to the door as Dem appeared in her wool school coat with Garrick's lead in her hand. "'Ere, Dem! You gonna buy a quarter of humbugs an' give that dog the lot of 'em!?" Garrick trotted forward, satisfied that he was being talked about and secure in the idea that he had the strong and unwavering support of his mistress. Dem grinned. "Dogs can't eat sweets!" said Dem. Ross scratched Garrick's head as he came around the right hand pew, wagging his tail. "More's the pity! Maybe we should put Garrick on the open market, Ross played with the dog's ears as he said, "'One overgrown mongrel. Carnivorous. Chases rabbits. Trained to sit on seedlings and scratch up flowers. Good crockery breaker. Sometimes suffers from bad breath. Results guaranteed.'" Dwight and Ned laughed heartily as Ross gave Garrick a wack on the flanks. Dem turned up her nose. "Don't pay them any mind Garrick! They don't love you like I do! Hmmph!" And Garrick followed Dem as she went out to Dwight's car. She turned to see Dwight, Ned and Ross shrugging on their coats, Ross locking the front door, and approaching the car. Garrick barked as if to say, 'Hurry up!'. "Of all the bloody cheek!" said Ned. He tugged on his forelock, at the dog, walking to the front passenger side, in mocking obeisance. "Yes, your Lordship! Right away, your grace!" said Ned. Dwight and Ross chuckled. Garrick barked again as he entered the backseat in satisfaction.

The Paynters had weekends off but Prudie was merciful. She left them a pie, that could be baked for Saturday's supper and a roast already tied and seasoned in its tray that they could all have a slap up meal for Sunday lunch. With Dwight and Ned staying at the Gatehouse, the meals were designed to be ample for four and left them feeling cared for. Prudie would not have her charges eating 'whateverall' while she was gone. They did need some bits and pieces from the music shop. They did need little flourishes like more beer and a perusal of the sweet shop. Resurgam, all, needed boring things like more undershirts and socks. Dem was always excited to go to the record shop. This meant bypassing Sawle and going to Truro. A port, a coinage town, the shopping center and a meeting place of fashion. It had been a center of life for Ross and his family. All this was so familiar. A strange town. A secretive important little town, clustering in the fold of the hills astride and about its many streams, almost surrounded by running water and linked to the rest of the world by fords, by bridges, and stepping stones. Ross knew it like the back of his hand. Though he often kicked against convention, he could not do without Truro, walking the High Street and knowing that the barber would glower at his long hair, offended at Ross' guaranteed disinterest in getting a haircut. The nurse would offer her poppies at the corner before Pascoe's bank, never the same woman but always the same nurse, if that made sense. Walking past with Mama, walking past with Papa, walking past with a dog, a young girl and his bandmates with the same feeling. Belonging...

Garrick bounded forward and the itinerary was devised as one went up the street. So: sweets first, music shop second, record store third and then necessities at the shops along the way. Groceries last. Dwight preferred Pear Drops. Ned, Kola Kubes. Ross was partial to Acid Drops and Dem could never make up her mind right away. The weather, her mood, the temptation of the taste of something new always guided her choice in a flurry of indecision. Today she chose Sherbet Fruits and they all meandered up the pavement, to the music shop, trading sweets. Dem waited outside with Garrick. She knew Ross, Dwight and Ned never spent time idly browsing in the instrument store. They only came to the Truro shop when they needed specifics. She waited and sucked on a Kola Kube, happy to believe that grown ups traded sweets just like the kids did at school without considering that the grown ups in question were adverse to growing up. Not the most accurate examples of maturity to be had. This could be witnessed in the record store where Dem had free reign to chose 45s without breaking into her own pocket money. Resurgam, to a man, enjoyed music, listened to it, played it, argued about it and one upped each other over their taste and knowledge of it, frequently. Having had the luck of being able to buy many things in the United States, years earlier that were often rare and expensive in Britain, they all had rarified tastes. Dem had the good fortune of living in a paradise of excellent records with a guardian who considered them as necessary a purchase as food. Records procured, undershirts and other replenishment of the gents wardrobe purchased. Dem weedling pretty hair ribbons and extra, very posh, hard bound, exercise books out of her guardian in an ask so subtle and effective, Ned and Dwight sniggered over Dem's bare faced cheek behind Ross' back. "What?" asked Ross. Ned snickered. "Ross Poldark, you're getting as soft as an old mare!" Dwight chortled as Ross took offense. "She needed them!" Ned gave Dem a wink. "Oh, yeah! 'Ere girl, tell 'im you need a new drum head!" Dwight chimed in. "And a sunburst Jazz Bass!" Ned crowed, "An' a Ludwig kit an' all!" Ross rolled his eyes, shook his head, grinning. "Oh, fuck off!" At that moment three, deeply conservative, blue rinsed, ladies scowled in their direction, walking past in an icy malevolence and then tottered away, scandalized. They continued up the pavement laughing so much that Garrick began to bark so as not to be left out.

"Poppy appeal! A poppy, sir?" Dwight and Ned bought poppy pins. Ross bought two. He handed Dem hers and they all attached them to their coat lapels. They were coming to the end of their errands. They went through the grocery store like a whirlwind. Weekend treats and ordinary groceries, like Garrick's food, piled into the shopping trolley. Taking over the place like a gang and accepting the 'tut tuts' of the same sort of gossiping shrews in stride. Ross and Ned, Dwight and Dem, with Garrick prancing alongside them walked back up the street carrying their shopping, talking of this and that with their cheeks distended with sweets and, as George Warleggan thought as he watched them come near as he traversed through the High Street, making an obnoxious spectacle of themselves. Ross looked ahead, muttered under his breath, "There blows an ill wind..." Then called out in a relaxed, friendly voice, "Alright, George?" George trapped in the same need that bound most people in tight knit communities, the veneer of camaraderie, whether or not that good will truly existed, nodded. "Afternoon, Ross. I wouldn't have thought your lot were the poppy wearing sort..." Ned, who often got his hackles up at any suggestion he or his companions were lesser to others lifted his chin with indignation. "That's because your lot's the sort who start the wars an' us lot's what finish 'em!" George scowled. "Good day..." And with that George waited, impatiently, for Ned's entourage to pass and leave the pavement free once more. They passed, looking little better than hooligans and that girl tripping up the lane with a stray mutt on a lead, sucking on a sweet with an insolence that could only be from the bare faced cheek of being Poldark's scrubber. Too young and daring anyone to call them out over it. Too young and already putting on airs, you can tell that type anywhere... Ross Poldark wore his ancient name like an afterthought. Ross might have argued that he wore his name in truth. There was no cause to change his ways or conform, not in the least because he was grounded within his ancestral seat. This self important, gossip shop of a town was his home and being a Poldark was whatever he wanted for he was a gentleman, a condition of station that George Warleggan would be hard pressed to know. Garrick paced around the car, excited to watch the boot being filled as if this expedition had been devised for his benefit. Chatting, laughing and having made what purchases they'd intended from the first, they drove back to Nampara. Dem bore her items away and did her homework with Garrick resting near her feet in the parlor. Ross was over at the Gatehouse for that was were Ned kept his drums. They rehearsed with a casual air. Fooled about, really. Messed about with some vague ideas, joked and worked and had a productive afternoon for all it was loosely contrived.

They all met up in Nampara's kitchen as Ross, Ned and Dwight puttered about, drinking beer and baking Prudie's pie with a mass of frozen chips on a tray in the oven. Ross would not tempt fate by trying to get them in the chip pan, as Prudie would have done. He'd not tempt fate and have the fire brigade storm Nampara in the Paynters absence. Even at his advanced age, Ross still felt like a schoolboy told not to play with matches without Prudie's supervision over the chip pan. They had a good natter, seated with Dem, provided with black currant drink, talking, and joking and conducting their dinner in a manner that might have had Prudie despair over them all had she seen. Far too many chips and veg discreetly forgotten and all the biscuits in the larder ransacked for pudding. Contentedly full from their dinner they assembled in the parlor, with tea and biscuits, to watch Top of the Pops. The gents, had the whiff of a suggestion that this was for Dem's benefit as she sat on the floor with Garrick, watching the acts and the dancers intently. Pop music was not 'proper', not like rhythm and blues was, but Resurgam did not begrudge Dem's enjoyment of it. That they might have tapped a toe to 'Get Off Of My Cloud', laughed like a drain to see Roger Daltrey stutter through The Who's new single, and had the pleasant surprise of Wilson Pickett performing 'Don’t Fight It', just meant that Top of the Pops had done 'what it says on the tin', the top acts and their songs, presented to the TV watching masses.

  
It grows late early, when you are enjoying yourself. Time flies when you are having fun. Garrick curled up by the hearth, warm from a merry fire going. Dem went up to her room to a happy chorus of, "Night, Dem!" From Dwight. From Ned. From Ross. She got ready for bed, still able to hear them having good natured arguments and playing some of the records they bought today. She fell asleep to music, just heard through the floorboards, and dreamt well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny Lane, The Beatles 1967
> 
> In Penny Lane, there is a barber showing photographs  
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know  
And all the people that come and go  
Stop and say, "Hello"  
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar  
And little children laugh at him behind his back  
And the banker never wears a mac  
In the pouring rain, very strange  
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
I sit, and meanwhile back  
In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass  
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen  
He likes to keep his fire engine clean  
It's a clean machine  
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes  
A four of fish and finger pies  
In summer, meanwhile back  
Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout  
The pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray  
And though she feels as if she's in a play  
She is anyway  
In Penny Lane, the barber shaves another customer  
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim  
And then the fireman rushes in  
From the pouring rain, very strange  
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
I sit, and meanwhile back  
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
Penny Lane!
> 
> "The weekend starts here": The opening for the music program, Ready, Steady, Go! ( also known by its initials, RSG!) Its slot on TV was Friday evening.
> 
> Gordon Bennet/strewth: a way of expressing surprise or displeasure without 'really' swearing oaths or blasphemy
> 
> Humbugs: peppermint candy
> 
> Blue rinse: a hair dye treatment that lessened the look of grey hair
> 
> Artificial poppies are worn in remembrance of those who lost their life in war and a symbol of hope for peace because it grows wild in many fields in northern France and Belgium where many died in WWI.
> 
> Scrubber: slut, trull ;)
> 
> Boot: trunk of the car
> 
> Frozen chips: frozen French fries  

> 
> Top of the Pops, November 11, 1965
> 
> The Who – My Generation  
Billy J. Kramer & The Dakotas – Neon City  
Sonny & Cher – But You’re Mine  
Wilson Pickett – Don’t Fight It  
Chris Andrews – Yesterday Man  
Bob Dylan – Positively 4th Street  
The Toys – A Lover’s Concerto  
The Seekers – The Carnival Is Over  
The Rolling Stones – Get Off My Cloud

**Author's Note:**

> Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed, David Bowie 1969


End file.
